


This Story Was Brought to You by Our Sponsors

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean POV, Episode Related, Established Relationship, First Time, Future Fic, Hunters are known, Kid Fic, M/M, On the Run, Parent Castiel, Parent Dean, Past Mpreg, Post-Apocalypse, Post-War, Reunion, Romance, Schmoop, Secret kid, Separation, Singer Salvage Yard, the supernatural are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-24
Updated: 2010-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:05:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's post-apocalyptic life is a friggin' soap opera. Romance! Angst! Separations! Reunions! Pizza Dinners! A Child Dean Never Knew He Had! It's all very dramatic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Story Was Brought to You by Our Sponsors

**Author's Note:**

> Other pairings: Sam Winchester/Sarah Blake  
> Other characters: Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Anna Milton, Gabriel, Michael, Lucifer, God, Claire Novak, Zachariah, Ellen Harvelle, Jo Harvelle, original characters.
> 
> This story has been translated into [Chinese](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3540851) by nakedrunning!

The name of the diner is _Johnny B’s_, and it’s a pretty decent imitation of an old-school establishment complete with cheesy sign and grime-laced windows. Any other day and Dean would’ve been impressed by the sight and maybe even made the effort to compliment the owner.

Today, however, he is a man focused.

Dean enters with his hat drawn low despite Anna’s assurances of the diner’s reputation for discretion. His eyes take in the interior quickly, noting the unusual shadows that stretch from wall to wall despite the decent lighting. The decor itself is decent, with devil’s traps integrated seamlessly into the cheesy wallpaper.

A waitress, dressed in a perfect replica of the white blouse and boring beige skirt of her profession, walks up to greet him. There is a protection tattoo under her chin, bold as brass above the silver chains that encircle her neck.

“Party of one?” she asks.

“Appointment,” Dean says, keeping his voice low and gruff.

The waitress glances over her shoulder at the horizontal mouth in the wall that opens into the kitchen. A chef – or at least, a man dressed as a chef – glances at Dean and nods.

“This way.” The waitress beckons at him.

There are only a few people in the place, most of them in booths and talking quietly beneath the steady lull of the jukebox playing in the corner. The place is simultaneously warm and impersonal, and as Dean’s vision flicks past the various tables, he finds that it’s hard to focus on any of them; their faces one blur one after another.

It’s pretty neat magic, but that doesn’t mean Dean wants to be here a minute longer than he needs to.

“Here you go.” The waitress has brought him to a booth at the far back. When Dean looks in, the shadows clear away to reveal two figures sitting side-by-side.

_Two_.

Dean’s body is searing hot and stinging cold at the same time, his thoughts running a mile a minute as he tries to process this and sit down without falling over. He manages to order a coffee from the waitress before she leaves.

Anna, the only person he’d expected to meet today, looks nervous despite her smile. “You made it.”

“Said I would,” Dean replies. He takes his time getting comfortable on the faux leather cushions, trying his damned best not to change how he’s breathing because that would give away the motherfucking rage now pounding at his eye sockets. _He_ doesn't have bitch tantrums – that's Sammy's job – so he keeps his eyes on the table, on his hands and on his hat, and very much _not_ on the angel sitting next to Anna.

He’s a different shape today, but maybe Cas really does have a type because there’s that familiar feathery unruliness of hair on the head bent towards the plate, like maybe it’s Cas’ personal angel aura that statics up his vessel’s hair, not that Dean’s ever seen him in another ride besides the 'ol reliable tax man and the one-time-event that was Claire Novak.

(Okay, fine, so he _is _lookingat the angel. Fuck that shit.)

Despite the change of wrapping, it’s easy to tell that it _is_ Cas from the way he’s methodically cutting his pancakes, chewing each forkful with that familiar single-minded dedication to the mundane, all the while being an utter goatfucking bitchface by not even looking up at Dean.

“Dean...” Anna starts to say.

But Dean can’t hear. He’s too busy being pissed because Cas won’t look at him, like he doesn’t care, like this moment right here means _nothing_. The years of no news, no postcards, no dropping in at inappropriate times – as if just because the apocalypse was over that meant that _everything else_ was.

“It took a great deal of effort to find him,” Anna says, a cautious undercurrent to her words that Dean can’t be fucked to analyze right now. “He was greatly hidden and—”

Dean snaps. “Too chicken shit to look me in the eyes, Cas?”

The head rises. Though the eyes are different, the gaze is as Dean remembers: steady, intense, unfathomable.

But then as one second folds into another, something in Dean’s head suddenly snaps on, moving past his rage to notice that the coldness in those eyes comes from a _lack of recognition_. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand up.

“I am not Castiel,” the boy says. Solemnly, simply.

“This is Daniel,” Anna says.

“What?” Dean scowls. But the eyes _are_ Castiel’s, Dean would know them _anywhere_, none of the other angels had ever—

They’re green. The eyes are green. And there are freckles along his nose.

Pieces fall into place, and suddenly it’s like he’s looking at an old photograph of himself, only ten hundred million times worse.

“Holy shit,” he says.

Daniel nods. “I am an abomination. So yes, holy shit.”

“Language,” Anna chides, then looks sheepish.

Daniel just sighs, canting his head birdlike towards Anna. “I’d like another set of pancakes, please. With lots of syrup.”

The boy’s eyes are grave, but his little feet are swinging a good foot off the floor in a restless tic, and Dean _can’t breathe_.

Well, actually he _can_, and he has to, because he needs to say the obvious. “No. It’s not possible.”

Daniel actually rolls his eyes, and in some horrific way, it reminds Dean more of Sam than anyone else. “Is everyone I meet going to say that?” he says.

“I’m afraid so,” Anna says gently, the affection in her voice clear. “As I was saying, he was very greatly hidden and—”

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asks urgently.

“_Castiel_,” Daniel corrects reproachfully.

Anna’s expression doesn’t change overtly, but the guilt in her eyes is obvious. “My brother doesn’t know that I brought him to see you.”

“I knew it,” Daniel sighs. “You’re in so much trouble, Anna.”

Dean frowns at the kid, disturbed by him in a way that’s nothing like how Cas used to disturb him back in the early days when he was nothing more than a cold-feeling chapped-lipped bastard. Daniel meets Dean’s gaze easily enough, but he’s obviously uninterested in whatever he sees, one of his fingers tapping impatiently at the menu for the pancakes that Anna has yet to order for him.

“I told Castiel I wanted to spend some time alone with him,” Anna says carefully. “But I thought _you_ might want to.”

Dean can’t feel his fingers anymore, clutched as tightly as they are around the edge of the table. “Oh?”

“It took _a lot_ of persuading.” Anna gives him a meaningful look, like there’s more she wants to tell him but cannot just yet. “I had to work Castiel for weeks before he’d even let me be alone with him. So...”

“Anna.” Daniel doesn’t raise his voice, but the edge of impatience is there. “Pancakes.”

She looks down at him seriously. “No, you want pie.”

Daniel considers this. “I would like pancakes _and_ pie. Then I will put in a good word in with Castiel so that he will not be angry with you too much for kidnapping me. Although that will not help much when the rogue angels descend and try to destroy me.”

There are threads here, and Dean can barely keep up for the wholly different type of pounding in his head. “Rogue angels, what?”

“I’m an abomination, were you not paying attention?” Daniel says.

“Okay,” Anna says, voice suddenly too bright. “I’m going to leave you guys to it, and just, you know, keep watch from a safe distance. Call if you need me.”

And she’s gone.

Dean stares at the space where she’d been sitting a second ago, cogs in his head whirring slowly as they try to catch up.

His eyes shift jerkily, only to find Daniel still staring at him. The boy – because he _is _just a boy, there’s no mistaking that slightly arrogant look all children get when they’re surrounded by stupid adults – is looking at him steadily, finger still tapping the menu.

“So, uh.” Dean clears his throat. “Quite an appetite you’ve got there.”

Daniel makes a soft, non-committal sound, like it makes no difference to him whether he has an appetite, or what Dean thinks of said appetite.

He is very thorough when the waitress drops by with Dean’s coffee and takes Daniel's new order, the kid only frowning once at the condescending lilt of her words. Then she’s gone, and it’s the two of them alone once again.

Jesus fucking Christ, where to start?

  


* * *

  


On the last day Dean spent with Cas before he disappeared, they went to a library. It wouldn’t have been Dean’s choice for a stop on Cas’ grand tour of humanity, but when the assistant librarian was God, you had to man up and go.

“I suppose I shall just wave my hand and fix everything,” God said to them. “Shove my fingers into everyone’s heads and make their decisions for them, be they human, angel, or demon. Is that what you’re asking of me, Dean?”

The plan had actually been that Cas would do the talking, but the moment he saw God he’d gone starstruck fanboy, leaving Dean to make with the smart talking all by himself, so in retrospect it was a miracle that the world was still around after.

“I'm saying that you should check in once in a while to see what your kids have been getting up to,” Dean snapped. “You know, make sure the place isn’t trashed and the china hasn’t been used for target practice?”

“I don’t check in,” God said. “Because that implies that I check out.”

Dean laughed loud and insolent in the face of his Maker. “So you _know_? You’ve been watching what’s happening in our mudpit and you _let it_?”

Cas whimpered, fingers gripping Dean’s arm like they wished to suck the words back in and undo their blasphemy. But Dean didn’t care. In fact, he could barely even look at Cas’ face, so open it was with unconditional and – in his opinion – _unearned_ love.

Even so, lightning did not strike them where they stood, and God merely cocked her head, eyes cool as mercury as they bore into Dean’s.

“You’ve been manipulating us from the very beginning,” Dean snarled.

“I see,” God said. “So I forced you to make the deal to save Sam, just as I forced your father to take up a life of revenge, and forced Sam to turn to Ruby in a time of heartache. And before that, I forced the angels to reinterpret my word as they saw fit, and forced the demons to lust after the world they’d forfeited the right to have. Tell me, Dean Winchester, do you believe in free will or not?”

God was smaller than him, the crown of her head barely reaching his shoulders, so Dean took what advantage he could and towered over her. “Your beloved son Michael said that–”

“I'm asking about _you_,” God cut in. “What do _you _believe?”

“Aren’t you God?” Dean snorted. “Shouldn’t you already know what I believe?”

“I know that you prefer to declare your choices with your own tongue,” God said, “Rather than being told what they are.”

“Yes, I believe in fucking free will!” Dean shouted. He took a deep breath. “That’s why I’m here at all.”

God nodded, eyes softening to a calmer quicksilver as they moved to Cas. “You are here because Castiel has enough faith for the both of you.”

“Thank you, Father,” Cas whispered, voice tight.

Dean rolled his eyes. “For crying out loud...”

“Well, you know the thing about free will, sunshine?” God was smirking. “It means making your own decisions and _dealing with the consequences_. Fix your own fucking mess.”

“But you started it!” Dean shouted, dragging his arm away from Cas’ nervous pulls.

“Yes, I did,” God said, but there was nothing apologetic in her tone. “I started it by allowing my children to make their own choices.”

“I’ve _read_ the Bible, okay,” Dean said, “You do more than give people choices.”

God’s eyes drifted away for a moment, and the smile that touched her lips was fond. “That is true,” she sighed. “You do realize, Dean, that I could undo all creation with a thought, if I so wanted. But I won’t do that for the same reason that you fight your battles day after day for nothing more than petty reward and the knowledge that it is the right thing to do.”

“There is good,” Castiel said, and for fuck’s sake, his eyes were bright with unshed tears. “The good that exists in this world is worth everything, even stopping an Armageddon could wash all of it clean.”

“Didn’t we already cover that?” Dean forced himself to pull back to the points he knew were right. “But you can stop it. _You_ can stop it and no one else.”

“One, were you not paying attention? The only way I can stop it the way you want is by lobotomizing every single being in creation – save myself, of course,” God said. “Two, you _can_ stop it, on your own terms, in the way that is right and just. The war between Heaven and Hell can only end here on Earth, at the hands of those born of it.”

“I still think you’re making this shit up as you go along,” Dean muttered.

“I’m God, Dean,” she replied. “If I say that you can stop it yourself, you bet your ass you can stop it yourself.”

“_How?_” Dean shut his eyes to the images that still burned in them. “The Devil’s taken Sam. I _let_ Lucifer take Sam and I can’t – you can’t expect me to kill him!”

“Are you really asking _me_ for answers?” God asked. “I, the one who plays with loaded dice and works in mysterious fucking ways? No, _no_, you don’t need to say it. I _know_ why both of you have come here. Castiel wished to learn if his faith was true – which it is, beloved child—”

Castiel was glowing, the little suck-up.

“—whilst you, Dean, are here because you hoped to score an anti-doomsday device from the one who knows everything that ever was and ever will be,” God said. “Well, there isn’t such a device. There’s only you, and the archangel still waiting to pop you on for the hoedown.”

“That’s it? That’s all you got?” Dean laughed. “If I say yes, Michael will kill Sam.”

“What makes you think Sam is still in there?” God asked.

“I’m not doing it!” Dean shouted. “If you’re God, then you know me, inside and out, and you know there’s no fucking way I’m going to kill my own brother!”

God raised her chin, and what the hell, she was grinning. “Then you are ready.”

“Huh? Ready for what?”

“You weren’t strong enough before,” God said. The books around them rustled, as though something mighty was dragging its invisible hands through the spines and shelves. “You weren’t _sure enough_ before. Your conviction had to burn brighter than Heaven and Hell combined before you could take them both.”

Dean stole a glance at Cas, only to be startled that Cas’ look of amazement was directed at _him_, not at God. “Cas...?”

“You have become strong enough to face down _me_.” God’s eyes were glowing bright, like stars building to supernova. “Now it is time for you to have faith.”

Dean snorted. “In _you_?”

Cas’ hand was warm where it wrapped around Dean’s wrist. He whispered softly, “No, Dean. My Father means that you are to have faith in _yourself_.”

  


* * *

  


Dean can barely wrap his mind around the bizarreness of the situation. He hadn’t thought that the world had anything left to throw at him, not after the everyday Twilight Zone that was his life pre-Apocalypse, but there it is: God is an assistant librarian with a sadistic streak.

Dean looks down at the dark, sloshing liquid in his cup, feeling like he’s losing a competition when Daniel’s attention wavers and slides to the little plastic menus propped up by the tissue dispenser. A million questions start and die in Dean’s throat, blocked by coffee that tastes bland though he’s pretty sure it isn’t, something inside falling and fading when Daniel starts kicking his legs again restlessly.

“Does your—” Dean starts, and then he has to stop, because Daniel’s gaze is back, sharp and (if Dean isn’t projecting) judgmental. “Castiel. That’s what you call him, your...?” He can’t even say it.

“Yes,” Daniel says. “Because that’s his name.”

Before this other question can die abortively, Dean voices it: “Do you know who I am?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Daniel says. “I’m going to die young, a gruesome half-breed all alone in the world.”

Dean scowls. “That’s—”

“Even if I don’t die young, I will spend the rest of my life hiding and hunted, always unable to settle at any place for long, living in fear of—”

“Hey, now wait a minute!” Dean snaps. “You’re just a kid! You have your whole life ahead of you, you can’t possibly know what’s going to happen just because you have some, uh, _unusual_ history, but that only means that there’s no rules written for you yet! Where do you get off being a—” he pauses to censor himself “—negative nelly at your age?”

Daniel’s eyes are wide now. He’s shrunk back a little on the seat, lower lip dropped open with surprise. “Oh.”

“Sorry,” Dean says gruffly, embarrassed. “It’s just, you shouldn’t have to say things like that. You shouldn’t have to think like that. That’s just not right, no matter what – no matter _who_ you are.”

“No one’s ever shouted at me before,” Daniel says softly, a tremor in his voice that Dean only belatedly realizes is awe.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think Cas knows how to shout,” Dean says, mind once again drifting back to the asshole angel that’s the reason they’re having this awkward little shindig in the first place. “He just mutters menacingly. Maybe growl a little when he’s feeling reallyangry.”

Daniel nods rapidly, eyes still wide.

He has the kid’s full attention now, which is kinda weird on top of the rest of the morning’s really weird, but the tightness in Dean’s chest has eased up. He offers a hand across the table.

“I’m Dean. Nice to meet you.”

Daniel narrows his eyes at the hand – the gesture is beautifully human and childish – but he takes it and shakes gently. “Likewise, Dean.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “That’s a common name, I’m guessing, like my own? Castiel’s let me read some of the Winchester Gospels—”

_Oh, shit_, too many connotations there, is that even appropriate reading for a child—

“—so it is a good name to have, except that Dean Winchester is a dick.”

“Hey!” Dean says before he can stop himself. “That’s not the kind of language that...”

Daniel’s tilted his head in a perfect imitation of that quirk Cas once had (does he still have it now, Dean wonders), and the sheer familiarity of it makes a small part of Dean go still with yearning.

“What do want with me?” Daniel asks suddenly.

The question pushes uncomfortably close to _who are you_, so Dean says quickly, “I just want to get to know you a little. Castiel’s a good friend of mine. Or he was, back in the day. I don’t know what he thinks about me now.”

“What do _you_ think about him now?” Daniel asks, and it’s kinda adorable how he’s pretending he’s not really curious to know what Dean’s answer is.

But the thing is, even Dean doesn’t know what his answer is.

“He’s... Cas,” Dean says lamely. “I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“But you were friends, once,” Daniel says. “And Anna trusts you.”

It’s obvious that Daniel doesn’t quite believe the friendship bit, let alone that Dean is trustworthy, but he appears to be unconcerned that he’s been left alone in the company of a stranger, which, if the kid’s lament about angels after his head is true, seems rather cocky.

“Food’s good?” Dean asks, grasping for a topic change.

“Yes, I like this,” Daniel says, belatedly biting into another forkful of pancake. “Where will you be taking me later?”

“We can take a drive around town,” Dean suggests, feeling an old tug of disappointment that he no longer has the Impala. He would’ve liked to show off his girl to the kid, but maybe that’s for the best in case the car helps Daniel put two-and-two together before Dean is ready. “This is my first time in these parts as well.”

“Anna said that they’ve rebuilt it really well,” Daniel says. “After the end of the world.”

“Yeah, about that…” Dean says slowly. “How far into the Gospels have you read?”

Daniel’s face lights up. “The brothers Winchester have just been reunited with their father. It happened much faster than I thought it would, but I think something bad’s going to happen. The Demon is still there, he’s got a huge bad plan, I just know it... But Castiel hasn’t let me the read the next issue yet. Do you know what happens?” The kid is practically bouncing in his seat now, looking every bit his true age.

“I’m not going to tell you,” Dean says, trying not to think too closely about how creepy it is that his life is open for mass consumption. He’s never gotten used to it, not even after all this time. “It’ll be much more exciting when you read it for yourself.”

Daniel honest-to-goodness pouts, and Jesus Christ he’s really managed to channel Sam despite having never met him.

“That’s what Castiel said,” Daniel sighs.

A part of Dean softens at the affection in the way Daniel says Cas’ name.

Oh, the anger is still there, pinching tight along the edges of Dean’s thoughts, but Daniel has had Cas all this time, and Dean cannot deny how he hungers to know.

“How is Castiel?” he asks.

A lot can happen in five years. In that same timespan Dean lost his dad, been reunited with Sam, found dad, died a couple of times, watched Sam die a couple of times, went to hell, got resurrected, fucked an angel, destroyed the world, rebuilt the world… It was exhausting to think about.

The five years after seem positively mellow in comparison, but apparently that’s because Dean missed a huge chunk of it.

“He is as he is,” Daniel says, shrugging.

“I meant,” Dean says wryly, “Is Cas... okay? Is he well?”

Daniel still frowns at the use of the nickname, but he refrains from correcting it. “Yes, he’s fine. But he probably won’t be, once he finds that I’m missing.”

“Well, you’re missing for a good reason,” Dean says.

“You’re friends,” Daniel repeats matter-of-factly, like this is a concept he still can’t wrap his head around. “But he’s never mentioned you.”

Well, that’s another notch in the stick that Dean is going to beat Cas on the head with.

“What, never?” Dean asks, and for some reason his voice sounds small when it comes back to his ears. “I’m his first real friend in the whole wide world, I’ll have you know. You’d think a guy would remember that.”

Daniel looks at him dubiously. “I doubt it. Castiel has been alive for a very long time.”

Dean thinks about that first year, how he watched Castiel drift close to humanity without really understanding it but wanting to so badly. Dean thinks about Cas making the effort to keep up with Dean, how he’d treated learning about mankind as an upgrade instead of a downgrade. Dean thinks about the many firsts that he gave Cas, again and again and again.

He thinks about how Cas finally learned to choose.

What else has Cas chosen in the five years Dean hasn’t seen him?

“You look sad,” Daniel says suddenly.

“No, I’m not,” Dean replies quickly. He swallows the thickness in his throat, chalking it up to mediocre coffee. “I’m just annoyed that Cas apparently didn’t tell you about how awesome I am.”

Something in Daniel’s face shifts, eyes widening. “What did you say?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “How awesome I am?”

“Oh,” Daniel breathes. “You.”

Okay, Dean’s throat _has _tightened, whatever, it’s justifiable, Sam’ll never know. “So Cas _has_ talked about me.”

“Not exactly…” Daniel says carefully. “But sometimes he says things that… I don’t know, they sound weird coming out his mouth… Like he’s using someone else’s words. He always has this funny look on his face when that happens.”

“What kind of look?”

“I don’t know, a funny look,” Daniel says, shrugging. “I guess he might’ve been thinking about you.”

That’s... okay, that’s good to know.

So Cas _has_ thought about him, at least a little.

  


* * *

  


The last night that Dean and Cas had together before Cas’ disappearing act, they fucked in the backseat of the Impala.

Dean would’ve preferred to get back to the motel so they’d have plenty of space to roll around on, but they only managed to drive a couple of miles from Ground Zero before Cas touched his shoulder and Dean – already wound tight in the high of having _saved the fucking world_ – had barely been able to park before throwing himself at Cas.

The only reason they managed to get in the backseat was because of Cas’ awesome teleporting mojo, now completely charged up in the wake of having been _fully forgiven by Heaven_, and there was just too much unbelievable in one day to process all at once.

“Cas, quickly, I gotta—” Dean snarled, pulling at his pants.

“Yes, Dean, _yes_,” Cas agreed, ripping buttons in his urgency.

It wasn’t long before Dean was riding Cas in a frenzy, one hand braced up to the ceiling to shove down as hard as he could onto Cas’ thrusts upward.

It was frantic, dirty and pretty fucking mind-blowing.

If Dean knew that it’d be the last time he’d get to have that in five years, he would’ve at least tried to make it last longer. It probably wouldn’t have worked, not with how much they’d needed it, but he could’ve at least _tried_.

Afterward, they lay pressed close to each other in the cramped space, not giving a damn how uncomfortable and sticky things were going to get soon. Dean was too tired to even protest when Cas kissed his forehead tenderly like the sap he was.

His cell was buzzing on the floor – probably Sam or Bobby (both _alive_, both _themselves_) checking in to make sure they hadn’t run off a bridge or something. Dean figured they could wait a couple of minutes.

“Shit,” Dean said, shaking his head. The motion rubbed his chin against Cas’ chest, and Cas brought his fingers up to card through his hair. “Shit, I can’t believe we just...”

“My faith was not misplaced, Dean,” Cas said, chest rumbling with soft laughter.

“Is that your way of saying _I told you so_?” Dean asked wryly.

Cas’ fingers paused in their ministrations, and Dean shifted his head to look up at him. Cas was gazing at the ceiling, like perhaps even he had trouble processing the day’s events.

“This changes everything,” Cas said.

Dean sighed. “Yeah. But at least it’s over now. Thank God.” He frowned at his own words, unsure how appropriate they were considering the circumstances.

“It isn’t over, Dean,” Cas said. He moved to sit up, ignoring Dean’s protests until they were both upright and side by side. “The world ended today, and tomorrow it must be remade.”

Dean barked a laugh. “What, don’t tell me that’s _my_ responsibility, too?”

“No,” Cas said. “It is yours and Sam’s.”

“What?” Dean backed away from him. “You’re telling me that after saving the world, we gotta clean it up, too?”

“There will be countless others to help you.” Cas was frowning, as though confused by Dean’s reaction. “Not only your people, once they understand the truth of what happened today, but you will also have the aid of the angels and any of the numerous creatures that will ally themselves to you. They will all follow your lead gladly.”

“Bullshit,” Dean snapped. “You can’t put _that_ on meand Sam. We did what we were supposed to do, played the parts we were supposed to play, and we’re _finished_! This is our time to rest!”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Do you truly think you will be able to have your... _rest_, knowing what the world needs now?”

“Fuck this!” Dean barely stopped himself from punching Cas for his stupid mood-killing conversations. “Cas, I’m done. I’ve got nothing left – _nothing_. Why can’t you just give me a break? Why can’t everyone just give me a _fucking_ _break_?”

Cas nodded, as though agreeing with Dean’s assessment of his deserving a break. Still, there was an air of disappointment about him as he reached out and touched Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Just... go, okay?” Dean said, pulling away irritably. “I can’t deal with this. Not so soon after being a goddamn deux ex machina.”

“Very well,” Cas said. “Goodbye, Dean.”

  


* * *

  


“I’ll get the check,” Dean says, waving at the waitress. “Then you and I are going have a day out in town.”

“That would be nice,” Daniel says tentatively. Dean can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t believe Dean, or because he doesn’t know if he can have an opinion on whether things are nice or not.

_Jesus_. Cas barely had a handle on humanity to begin with, and he’d looked after Daniel on his own the whole time? Yeah, Daniel was in dire need of a crash course in humanity, Winchester-style, pronto, por favor.

As he pays the waitress and thanks her for the great service, Dean quickly goes over a plan for the rest of the day. He’s going to give the kid his full attention, take him out and do _normal_ things (and Dean isn’t that old as to not remember what floated his boat at that age), and he’s going to get Daniel to stop talking like a fucking misfortune cookie. Somewhere in the middle there he’s going to stuff Daniel to his gills with greasy food, and he’s _not_ going to think about all the shit that went down to get them to this point today.

Then when Castiel shows to pick Daniel up, Dean’s going to _kick his ass_.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Dean says, getting to his feet.

Daniel looks confused. “Can’t we bamf out of here?”

That startles a laugh out of Dean. “Did you say bamf?”

“Isn’t that…” Daniel trails off, but recovers quickly and shoves his chin out. “It’s a better word for teleport. I know it is.”

“You’re right, actually,” Dean admits. “But how did you – wait. You think I’m an angel?”

“Aren’t you?” Daniel squints up at him. “You have the mark of an archangel.”

That settles the question of how human Daniel is (answer: not all the way through). Dean isn’t surprised that the kid has second sight, but he’s not sure he wants to know how far his freaky gifts go. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m human,” Dean says, omitting the _now_ that should be tacked to the end of that statement. “Don’t know many humans, do you?”

Daniel is busy buttoning up his jacket when he answers, “Noelle’s human.”

Something sharp slices through Dean’s thoughts. “Who’s Noelle?”

“She helped raised me,” Daniel says simply, jumping off the seat on to the floor. “We can go now.”

“Wait, who’s Noelle?” Dean presses. “Is she your—”

The words are cut off because Anna is suddenly there, crowding into Dean’s personal space and panicking. “Dean, Dean! We’ve got to get out of here.”

Dean steadies her with a hand on an elbow. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s coming, he’s going to—”

They turn at the familiar sound of wings fluttering, and then Cas is standing right there.

For all the days and weeks and years spent working up to this moment, now that it’s actually here, Dean can only focus on what he sees before him.

And what he sees is Castiel, with his large blue eyes and the soft lines of his mouth, face as (_cough_) nice to look at now as it’s been in Dean’s dreams. It’s like only yesterday Cas kissed him goodbye before he’d driven off to pick up Sam, Dean not knowing that that goodbye had meant _goodbye_.

So many different scenarios of this moment have played in Dean’s head over the years. All of them feature Dean ripping Cas a new one, tone of the confrontation varying between fierce to gentle to an all-out screaming match, but all of them end with Dean triumphant and Cas either apologetic, stubborn or fluttering off like a coward with his wings between his legs.

None of those scenarios match what actually happens.

Dean’s too busy thinking, _five years, five fucking years, he looks even better than I remember, how could I have forgotten that stupid fucking stare of his, wait, is that a new jacket_, that he’s frozen in place while Cas strides across the room towards him.

And punches him in the jaw.

Dean goes flying backward, loud and undignified as he slams into the table behind him. He’s back on his feet almost immediately, hunter’s reflexes still pretty damn sharp despite his being on the more elegant side of thirty. “The _hell_?”

“How _dare_ you,” are Castiel’s first words to Dean after five years. “How dare you stoop to subterfuge. Do you realize what you could have _done_? No, of course not.”

The look in Castiel’ eyes is fierce and unrelenting. He is every inch the angel that once stood willingly between Dean and the wrath of Heaven. The dark jacket he has on now cuts the lines of his body lean and sharp; it is such a contrast to the ill-fitting tan trench he used to wear.

“Daniel,” Castiel snaps.

Daniel sidles over to Castiel’s side, where he is immediately hefted into the angel’s arms – smoothly, efficiently, like this is movement the body has long since memorized.

“Cas—” Dean starts to say.

But Castiel is gone.

When Dean looks at Anna, she is shaking, face pale with more than just guilt. That may be actual _fear_ that has her chin trembling.

“Anna,” Dean says, “What the hell just happened?”

  


* * *

  


The last thing Dean did, before he finally said yes to Michael, was make out with Cas.

Michael had told him a while back that he wouldn’t be burned out to a husk by saying yes, but angels had the magical gift of lying without actually telling lies, so Dean wouldn’t put it past Michael to conveniently forget some fine print somewhere that’d have him a drooling mess once it was all over.

“My Father just told you to have faith, Dean,” Cas said, once Dean pulled back to breathe.

“Yeah, well.” Dean dipped forward to take another kiss because if there was one last thing he got to do in his own body, it’d damn well be something awesome like sucking on Cas’ tongue. “Can’t blame me for having reservations when we’re playing the House for a full pot.”

“No, I can’t blame you for that.” Cas paused contemplatively. “That was a poker reference, wasn’t it?”

Dean grinned. “Yeah, you’re getting pretty good.”

He pulled back a little further to take in this new look on Cas’ face. There was a confidence and peacefulness about him that hadn’t been there in a long time – or, really, _ever_, since the calmness he’d exuded back in the early days had to do with the cold aloofness of an angel who watched but couldn’t care. Cas had definitely learned how to care since then, and Dean knew as well as anyone how caring made one vulnerable.

“So now you’ve met your daddy and gotten a pat on the head, you’re ready to take on the world?” Dean teased.

“Yes,” Cas said. “I feel like I can.”

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “Okay, Cas, this it. You might want to be someplace else when Michael drops in. I don’t know how he’s going to react if he sees you here.”

“I believe that things will unfold as they are meant to.” Cas’ hands drifted down to rest at his sides in an anticipatory stance. “I shall stay here.”

Dean nodded, knowing that there would be no changing Cas’ mind now that they’d apparently gotten God’s blessing to take Team Free Will’s act on the road.

He lifted his head. “Calling 1-800-Michael! I’m right here, you son of a bitch! Yes!”

Michael came down in a grand entrance befitting any drama queen, divine light and holy wind whipping in every direction. Dean shut his eyes and let happen, forcing himself not to fight the thing that pressed into him. It felt like a mighty hand of breath, thought and power had pushed inside him, curling against his skin as though testing how he fit.

Dean was still there when Michael opened his eyes.

Cas had not moved an inch. He still looked calm and ready.

“Little brother,” Michael said with Dean’s mouth, and _whoa_ that was weird. “What _have_ you done to your wings? That’s what happens when you go slumming.”

“Michael,” Cas said, expression giving nothing away.

“Come.” Michael beckoned, and Cas approached without hesitation. When Michael raised his hand, Dean could feel his intent in the motion – he was going to _burn Cas out_, just as he had burned Anna – and Dean screamed: _NO_.

“Michael?” Cas looked at the hand that had frozen inches from his forehead.

“What is this?” Michael said, angrily. “What is _this?_”

Dean beat his mental fists against the power that was Michael. _Don’t you dare harm Cas. Don’t you _dare.

There was uncertainty in the mighty being that wore Dean. Where Michael had been sure in the righteousness of his purpose, he was now feeling what _Dean_ felt, and because he was an emotion-denying dick with wings, he didn’t know how to make sense of it.

Icky human feelings, _ewww._

“Begone, Castiel,” Michael snapped, and Dean could not hide his triumph at the confusion he could feel swirling in the archangel. “I don’t want to see you.”

“Very well,” Cas said, disappearing obediently.

Michael took a deep breath – an unnecessary thing for angels, last Dean checked – and then said aloud, as if he was trying to convince himself, “Now we shall go and cut down the Morning Star as is preordained, bringing this war to its final conclusion.”

As they teleported to where the real action was, Dean felt a thrill that Michael hadn’t even noticed how he’d said _we_ instead of _I._

  


* * *

  


Dean storms out of the diner with Anna close behind him. She’s completely useless right now, staring and shaking her head at nothing no matter what Dean says, and that leaves him with only one other option right now.

“Bobby?” he says into his cell.

“_This better be important_,” Bobby says gruffly.

“Anna found Cas,” Dean says, figuring the Cliff’s Notes version is enough for the moment. “But the bastard Houdini’d his chicken shit ass out of here before I could get a straight answer out of him. We’re gonna do a summoning and drag him right back.”

“_The ritual didn’t work on him before_,” Bobby says.

“I know,” Dean snaps. When Bobby is pointedly silent at him, he sighs. “Sorry, it’s just...”

“_Can’t help you out today, Dean_,” Bobby says. “_There’s too much stuff going on right now. In a day or two, maybe—_”

“I can’t wait a day or two!”

“_Fine, keep your hat on, let me see who I can..._” Bobby’s voice goes distant when he calls out, “_Hey, you! Yeah, what’re you doing right now?_” Another voice inaudibly mumbles an answer, to which Bobby says, “_Okay, Dean needs some help for an angel summoning and – calm down, son, yes. Yes, yes, great._”

“Got help for me?” Dean asks when Bobby’s back on the line.

“_Yeah, Jegudiel will set up the old place for you_,” Bobby says. “_Be sure to send him back in one piece._”

“Aww, the Jegster?” Dean sighs. “Anyone but him, c’mon.”

“_He’s already gone._”

“Okay, whatever.” Dean sighs. He adds softly, “Thanks, Bobby. Say hi to Sam for me.”

“_Say hi to him yourself,_” Bobby replies.

“Dean, Dean.” Anna’s finally talking again, and now she’s got a hand on his arm and trying to get his attention. “Dean, we’ve got to go.”

“What?” Dean hangs up and looks at her. “What is it now – oh, shit.”

They have an audience now. In his haste to get the hell on Cas’ trail, Dean had been stupid enough to leave his hat in the diner and then have that phone conversation out in the open.

Small town it may be, but small towns can still make mobs if they want to, and there is certainly one gathering together on the other side of the street. They’re a safe distance away, but Dean knows from experience that it only takes one person to turn a meandering crowd into a dangerous swarm.

That one person is the man who suddenly shouts, “Dean!”

A chorus soon joins him: “Dean Winchester!” “Dean!” “It’s Dean Winchester, praise be!”

“Get us out of here _now_,” Dean hisses, closing his eyes when Anna’s fingers reach up to press to his forehead.

It’s been a while since Dean’s travelled this way, so his stomach does a funny flip-flop when they rematerialize in an empty field somewhere, the sound of a highway beyond a thick line of trees. It’s a good thing he didn’t eat much back in the diner, because he always upchucks his food if he angel-energizes on a full stomach.

“Thanks,” Dean says.

Anna has already pulled away, looking to the distance. “Castiel,” she says softly. “He was…”

“Pissed?” Dean offers.

“_Powerful_.” Anna shudders. “He wasn’t like that the last time I saw him. Your jaw should be broken.”

“Angel residue, bub.” Dean rubs his chin, which is only throbbing a little. “I’m still Wolverine. Hey, Anna, _breathe_. Relax.”

She nods, trying to do exactly that. “I managed to get a lead a while back, but I didn’t tell you at time in case I was wrong. Remember a few years ago, when they found that John Doe that looked like James Novak, but the body disappeared soon after?”

“Yeah, I remember that.” There were perks to being a demi-god celebrity, such as the ability to get a worldwide APB on a no-show angel.

“I wondered if perhaps Castiel had been purged from his vessel,” Anna said. “If that were the case, he could have gone to the next in line.”

“Claire Novak.” Dean frowns. “But I checked up on her and Amelia. They said they haven’t heard from Cas at all.”

“They were _lying_.” Anna’s eyes flash with satisfaction. “How do you think I found Castiel at all? I tracked down Claire, and she led me straight to him.”

“Son of a _bitch_.” Dean closes his eyes, mentally expanding the list of things he’s going to do to Castiel once he gets his hands on him. “Okay, we’re going to go to Bobby’s old place, and we’re summoning the _hell_ out of Cas’ feathery ass.”

  


* * *

  


Michael/Dean’s arrival at the Apocalyptic Superbowl turned out to be just late enough to be fashionable. The whole crew was already there – angels, demons and all the poor souls dragged into the armies of either – but as soon as Michael/Dean arrived, all of them fell to stillness, hundreds of thousands of heads turning to watch the stand-off in the epicenter of the action.

Dean felt like Cinderella making her grand entrance, so it was perhaps appropriate that Lucifer was wearing the familiar blinding white suit of a _Saturday Night Fever _reject.

“I thought you’d never show, brother,” Lucifer said.

Michael started talking, but Dean couldn’t hear any of the words that were coming out of his own mouth. He could only look at his brother’s face and feel the rush of hollow pain of having allowed it to come to this.

Everything he’d ever done to protect Sam only seemed to blow up in his face. It was one rotten decision after another fuelled by his stubbornness and pride. No matter how they resisted, or how much they’d promised each other, it all _still_ came down to this.

Brother facing brother while the world held its breath.

“—and I shall burn thee and purge thy evil from…” Michael paused in his tirade.

Lucifer raised Sam’s eyebrow. “Cat got your tongue, Mike?”

Something was happening to Michael. Dean wouldn’t understand until much later, but at that moment Michael was caving in under the weight of Dean – his thoughts, memories, joys, sorrows and sheer obstinate personality overwhelming the archangel the moment he laid eyes on the thing in Sam’s shape and understood what that _meant_.

The angel is supposed to ride the vessel. That was the way it’d worked since the creation of man, though demons perverted that relationship to their own gain. Over millennia angels silenced their hosts and demons reveled in their screams, but none had ever experienced the weight of a human soul forged through love and pain and years of a pretty messed up life as that of Dean Winchester.

So it was that Michael became the first to know up close and personally who Dean was and what Sam meant to him. As Michael used Dean’s eyes to look across the way at Lucifer, into Michael’s essence wove the pure steel of Dean’s conviction that he would _never let anyone hurt his brother_.

Though the thing that gazed back at them wasn’t Sam, it didn’t matter. He wore Sam’s face, and in that Michael understood the kind of love that could move mountains and brave Hell and tear Heaven to pieces.

Like a friggin’ Chicago song.

So, naturally, Michael started crying. “Brother… Oh, _brother_, I didn’t know…”

_Uh_, Dean thought, within the privacy of his own head.

Lucifer laughed. To be fair, the sight of Michael sobbing his eyes out with Dean’s face _was _pretty hilarious. “Having second thoughts, Michael?”

“Michael!” Zachariah stepped forward from where he had been watching things unfold. “Michael, please, greatest of us all, you must end this now!”

“We have been blind, Zachariah.” Michael turned to Zach and clasped his shoulder firmly. “In our loneliness and craving for Father’s love, we have become... _perversions_ of our original purpose. I now stand with Dean Winchester.”

_What_? Dean thought to himself.

Zachariah pointed a shaky finger at the Morning Star. “But… _Lucifer_!”

“Yes, Lucifer,” Lucifer said, rolling Sam’s eyes. “I don’t know what on earth is going on here, but if you’re not going to be the good little son and burn me to dust, then _hey_, more for me!”

Michael faced Lucifer, bringing Dean to his full height. “Dean Winchester willingly went to hell for his beloved brother. I shall now do the same.”

Dean missed most of the next part due to his puny little mortal brain being unable to comprehend the enormity of the act. All he knew of the moment was that there was fire that didn’t burn, the noise of Heaven and Hell folding over each other, and the opening of wings so huge they covered the entire sky.

Then there was the sensation of claws, followed by Lucifer screaming as Michael took him by his hand and pulled him down to Hell.

After that, absolute silence.

It was into that all-encompassing absence of noise and movement that Dean opened his eyes. The world was still there, frozen in a tableau of angel, demon and all others in-between just as they’d been before, but now there was also Dean, alone in his own body.

“Sam?” he said, with his own mouth.

Sam’s body crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath. Dean rushed to his side, and when he rolled the body over the eyes that looked up into his were Sam’s. He would know that emo expression anywhere.

“Dean,” Sam said, fingers clutching at Dean and pulling him into the mightiest manly hug there ever was. “Dean, Dean, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Dean said quickly, hushing him. “It’s over. At least, I think it is.”

“What happened?” Sam looked around wildly at the unnatural stillness of the world.

“Michael decided not to kill his brother and crater up our planet in the process,” Dean said. “Guy could learn a thing or two, I guess.”

“Wait, so he’s just postponing it to a later date?” Sam asked incredulously.

“No… I think it’s a time-out, but… _different_. You know, the kind where they sit in a corner and talk about what they did wrong?” There was no way Dean could know that, except that he’d felt that decision pulse bright through Michael’s essence as the archangel had reached out to his brother.

Sam slowly sat up, picking at the white suit dubiously. That left Dean free to search for his cell and call the second number on speed dial. “Cas?”

“I’m here.” Cas was there, quickly kneeling down next to them. The smile on his face was soft and proud. “You’ve done it. Both of you played to your own beat.”

“What’s going on, Cas?” Dean gestured blindly at the frozen figures all around them, because it was just too freaky to look at.

“The world has ended,” Cas said. “I am here because you called me awake, and the rest of it awaits your word to breathe anew.”

“Why does that sentence sound scarier than the sum of its words?” Dean asked.

“It is Michael’s doing,” Cas said, helping both of them to their feet. “He has gone, but he has left his right of authority to you – both of you – to share equally, and any conscious being that looks upon you will know that you have this right. You may ask that the Host return to Heaven, all the demons to be locked in Hell… Anything you wish for as long as Michael’s gift remains with you.”

“So you mean we _did_ win, for real?” Dean stared at Cas, waiting for the _gotcha_ he half expected at any moment.

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said, still smiling.

Dean and Sam exchanged a long look of exhaustion and disbelief.

“What are you going to do now?” Cas asked curiously.

“We’re going to find Bobby,” Dean said. “Then we’re collecting my car and not going to Disneyland.”

  


* * *

  


Jegudiel is waiting on the porch when they arrive at the building formerly known as Bobby’s. The angel’s face lights up at the sight of them, and when Dean opens his hand, Jegudiel tosses the house keys perfectly into the middle of his palm.

“Nice,” Dean says as he strolls past. “You got the chalk sigils all up?”

“Yes, sir,” Jegudiel says, and if his wings were visible, they’d be fluffing themselves proudly. “I took the liberty of sweeping the floor and stocking the fridge while I was in there, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Kinda presumptuous of you,” Dean says as he opens the front door. When Jegudiel’s shoulders slump, he adds, “Kidding.”

Jegudiel is beaming again when he glances at his sister. “Hello, Anna.”

“Jegudiel.” Anna nods at him. “Thank you for your assistance.”

“Always an honor.” Jegudiel flips off a perfect salute that Bobby likely taught him for kicks. “Mister Singer sends his regards.”

“Sure he does.” Dean lets his smile drop when Jegudiel disappears.

They enter Bobby’s old house in silence. The place has been kept in pretty good condition despite the owner having moved out officially years ago. Bobby does come back once in a while when he feels like it, so the furniture and books are as they’ve always been. Dean’s heard that Bobby sends one of his angels around every couple of weeks to give the place a spit-shine, but move a trinket out of a place and there’d be hell to pay.

“I’m getting a beer,” Anna declares, starting for the kitchen.

“Get me one as well,” Dean says. “I’ll start on the holy oil, you can check the sigils.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Anna is standing in the opening that leads to the kitchen, arms crossed sternly. “I promised you that I’d find Castiel. I’ve done that.”

“So you’re not helping?” Dean asks incredulously.

“I’m helping by staying out of it.” After a brief stare-off, Anna’s face softens. “This is between you and my brother. I shouldn’t be here at all.”

It’s not that Dean doesn’t trust himself to be alone with Cas. After all, there are no weapons in Bobby’s house that can kill an angel, so it’s not like he’ll be tempted.

He can’t be sure that _Cas_ won’t be tempted, though.

“Just hang around for a while,” Dean says. “I’d appreciate it if you’re close enough to call 911 if Cas starts throwing me into walls. Better yet, call Bobby.”__

Anna concedes this point with a nod. “I’m staying right here unless you scream bloody murder, though.”

“Fair enough.” Something else occurs to Dean. “Hey, Anna, riddle me this. How is it possible for a human to have an angel for baby mama – angel – whatever?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Anna admits. “There have been hybrids before, but they have always been born of the human parent, not the angel. Daniel wasn’t exaggerating when he said he was an abomination. Anything remotely like him would’ve been executed by our brethren long before they could be born into the physical plane. That Castiel managed to keep him alive for so long is… miraculous.”

“It’s just _rainin’ _miracles today, hallelujah,” Dean snorts. __

Anna does a complicated shrug of ‘_what can you do?’_ before disappearing into the kitchen.

That leaves Dean alone to go down to the basement. There, he takes his time inspecting the sigils on the floor and setting up the bowls of incense and holy oil in a meticulous ritual.

His cell rings unexpectedly while he’s pouring the holy oil. Naturally, it turns out to be Sam on the line.

“_Dean_.” Sam’s tone is urgent, the worrywart. “_Bobby said you found Cas_.”

“Yeah, Anna finally came through.”

“_So how’re you… how are you doing? How is _he_ doing?_”

“You know what, I’ll call you when I get the answer to either. I’m going to try summoning him again.”

“_Yeah, Bobby said_,” Sam says. “_You will tell me what happens, won’t you?_”

“Sure,” Dean says, though he isn’t, really. It’d have to depend on what actually happens.__

“_You should come by one of these days, seriously_,” Sam says, voice taking on a familiar whine. “_You’d love it, the Impala has her own spot and everything—_”

“I’ll call you back, Sam, okay,” Dean says hurriedly. “Give a kiss to my girl for me. Oh, and one for Sarah, too, I guess.”

“_Sure, Dean_,” Sam says, sounding resigned.

Dean puts the cell on silent before tucking it away. He stands up, stretches, and then surveys the completed set-up for an exclusive angel invitation. “Showtime.”

  


* * *

  


The thing was, it took _way_ too long before Dean realized that Cas was gone.

C’mon, he was _busy_. There was stuff to do. Rebuilding the world took a lot out of a guy, even if he had a crazy-organized committee-forming brother and a gun-happy hunter with no qualms about shouting at angels helping take a fair share of the load.

“I really _am_ Batman,” Dean said.

“You keep doing that and they’ll fall off, Dean,” Gabriel said from where he was lying on a couch, tossing candy into his mouth.

Dean pulled the wings back in and drifted down. “Well, if our archangel powers are going to run out at any moment, we might as well put them to good use, right?”

“Put them to good use _fixing the world_, Dean,” Sam said, not looking up from the set of laptops on the dining table. “We’re going to meet with the remaining world leaders in less than three hours, so are you ready or not?”

“I thought we decided that you were going to do all the talking,” Dean said. “I just have to sit there and look pretty.”

“Oh, to be a fly on the wall for _that_,” Gabriel snickered.

Sam’s bitchface went up to eleven, and it was aimed directly at Dean. “_Dean_. They’re still going to want to talk to _you_. You’re the one who met God and got Michael to override his programming.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean said, waving a hand at him dismissively. Their lives were weird and could only get weirder now they were out to the world. So, logically, the only thing Dean could do to preserve his sanity was not think about anything too much. That was what Sam and Bobby were for.

Anna arrived soon after to announce that the venue was ready. “We’ve warded it appropriately, and the heads of state should start arriving within the hour.”

“Hello, Anna,” Gabriel said, tossing a piece of candy at her. “You’re looking well for the newly resurrected.”

“And you’re looking well for a newly-demoted demi-god,” Anna said, calmly popping the candy in her mouth. “_Gabe_.”

“Hey, speaking of angels that were unnecessarily restored to life by Big Daddy,” Gabriel rolled over, sending candy wrappers fluttering to the floor, “Where’s that other little baby bro of mine? As much as I don’t want to see his self-righteous little mug going _na na na_ to my face, it’s weird as hell not seeing him hovering all over your ass.”

Dean shrugged. “He’s somewhere.” When Gabriel blinked at him slowly, Dean added, “You know how he is, coming and going whenever he wants.”

That made Sam look up as well, adding a new entry to the chorus of frowns in the room. “But that was when there was a war going on. Where could he be now?”

“Maybe he’s checking for survivors and distributing first aid kits, how should I know?” Dean snapped.

“You mean you _don’t_ know where he is?” Sam was alarmed.

“It’s not a big deal,” Dean said, thrown by their reactions – Sam surprised, Anna confused and Gabriel on the brink of hysterics. “I’m sure he’s just chilling out somewhere.”

“I haven’t seen him since before the final confrontation.” Anna slanted a quietly judgmental look in Gabriel’s direction. “Castiel helped gather the other rebel angels together to protect as many cities of the world as they could from Lucifer’s attacks. I believe he looked for you as well, but you didn’t respond to his call.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I was in the shower.”

“Dean, have you _called_ Cas?” Sam asked.

“Fine, geez, I’ll call him if it’ll make you feel better,” Dean said.

He made the call. When there was no answer, he chalked it up to Cas being busy with a new world agenda and left a voice mail.

A few more unanswered calls later, Dean turned to a summoning ritual.

He got pretty good at doing the summoning ritual.

  


* * *

  


Dean moves almost on autopilot, trailing fingers through chalk and reciting Enochian with now-flawless enunciation. When he lights the flame he half-expects nothing to happen, just as nothing happened all those other times he’d done it, but today, the lights flicker almost immediately.

“Aww, c’mon Cas, it’s going to take forever to replace all those bulbs,” Dean mutters.

Maybe Cas heard him, because the flickering suddenly stops.

Between one blink and the next, Castiel appears in the center of the ring of holy fire. Blue eyes snap up to Dean’s immediately.

“Let me go,” Castiel says.

“What, no _Hello, Dean_?” Dean does a pretty mean impersonation of Cas’ gravel voice, but the angel is not amused.

“You must let me go, Dean,” Castiel says urgently. “Daniel is alone.”

“No, he’s not.” Dean finds himself enjoying Castiel’s distress, and he sinks lazily into a chair to make himself comfortable. “He’s got Noelle to look after him.”

Castiel looks startled. “What else do you know?”

“Not enough,” Dean replies coolly. Castiel’s eyes are darting around – he isn’t even bothering to be coy that he’s trying to find an out that Dean knows isn’t there. “How’ve you been, Cas?”

“You can’t keep me here,” Castiel says.

“Sure I can.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand.” Dean stretches his legs. “We got _all day_, Cas.”

While Castiel takes a moment to compose himself, Dean catalogues the differences between him and the angel of his memories. The face looks a little older, which is strange because vessels aren’t supposed to age while they’re being used, not that Jimmy’s been hanging around, the poor guy. The body is all Castiel’s, as it has been since his resurrection, but now he looks taller, as if he fixed his posture, though that could also just be the new clothes. The hair’s a little longer, too, bangs falling close to his eyebrow line and in need of someone to push them out of the way.

“Daniel is a half-breed,” Castiel says to the floor, which is strange, because if there’s anything Dean remembers with clarity it’s the way Cas used to make like a portrait and stare no matter how many times he got told off for being damn creepy. Today, he isn’t even making the effort. “Many of the angels now under the Winchester governance would not hesitate to kill Daniel on sight because of what he is, no matter that they’ve sworn their allegiance to you and Sam. Then there are also the rogue angels still on the loose, along with the numerous demons whom would love to get their hands on him if they had concrete evidence that he exists. Do you remember Jesse?”

“The anti-Christ that wasn’t, yeah, I remember.”

“It is the same,” Castiel tells him. “There is a belief that a half-breed will cause imbalance to the fabric of reality itself. The fear is that he will challenge Heaven and attempt to take my Father’s throne for himself. So, you understand, I have to be with him.”

“Why’d you leave, Cas?” Dean asks.

Castiel looks surprised, which is hilarious considering there’s really no other question he should’ve expected from this little get-together. “You know the answer to that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You met Daniel today. Surely you could estimate his age and work back from there?”

God, Dean wants to punch him.

“Why didn’t you _tell me_?” Dean hisses through gritted teeth.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters!” Dean yells. “I have a _kid_, and I didn’t know!”

“It is also possible that you have children from your other encounters over the years,” Castiel says, voice calm but the words sharp and twisting. It stuns Dean to silence, because Cas wouldn’t say that. Cas wouldn’t be _deliberately cruel_, and do it with a poker face that could make a statue cry.

“I had a right to know,” Dean says hoarsely.

“Dean, please,” Castiel begs, those eyes finally lifting for a full-frontal attack of emotionally manipulative pleading. “Let me go. Every moment I’m here I – where are you going?”

“To get a goddamn beer!” Dean shouts over his shoulder as he walks up the stairs. “I can’t be sober for this.”

  


* * *

  


There were many false leads.

The Winchesters had become more famous than Jesus (something decidedly uncontroversial this time round) and with Chuck’s _Supernatural_ books hitting the big leagues, everyone and their grandmother wanted to ‘help out’. Soon enough there were more sightings of Cas than Bigfoot, Elvis and the Abominable Snowman combined.

After the latest disappointment, Dean threw the phone to the floor and said, “Fuck it, I’m going to Crowley.”

Bobby’s hand came up to whack the back of his head. “No.”

“Why not?” Dean winced, rubbing his skull. “The guy’s one of the reformed, right? Survived God’s twelve-step program and everything. He can at least tell me if Cas is in Hell.”

“Castiel is not in Hell,” Jegudiel said, setting a cup of coffee in front of Bobby. “When an angel enters Hell all the Host feel the ripples. It isn’t pleasant.”

“But we can make sure,” Dean said.

Jegudiel looked offended at the accusation that his information could be anything but accurate. “We _are_ sure, Mister Winchester.”

“Then where is he?” Dean demanded. “Why hasn’t he responded to my summons?”

Jegudiel, like his other brothers, still hadn’t figured out the finer art of human social graces. “He could be dea—”

“Castiel’s the nerdiest bookworm in the garrison,” Bobby cut in gruffly. “He probably knows a dozen ways to keep hidden. Enochian magic’s only one way to do it.”

“But he has no reason to be deliberately hiding himself, since all the previously rebellious angels have been forgiven and accepted in open society,” Jegudiel pointed out, and the annoying part was that he was right. “Would you like some coffee, Mister Winchester? I’ve got a fresh pot on.”

“Lot of sugar, no milk,” Dean said, though the request was more to get Jegs out of the room than any confidence he had in the angel’s brewing skills. Once he was gone, Dean said to Bobby, “He could be in trouble.”

“Yes, he could,” Bobby agreed. “Or he could just not want to be found.”

That was the theory that kept popping up all over the place, and Dean was getting sick of it. It didn’t make sense. There was no good reason for Cas to stay away – and even if there was, surely he wouldn’t have gone without explaining his reasons.

No one else could offer anything new, not even with all the freaking resources of Heaven and Earth (and, occasionally, Hell) at their disposal.

The closest they came to finding him, not that Dean knew it at the time, was when Baraqiel relayed the news that a John Doe who looked like Cas – or to be more accurate, looked like Jimmy – had been spotted in a hospital in Burkina Faso. According to Baraqiel, John Doe had been there for a couple of months, but it was only recently that an orderly matched him to the APB that Sam had sent out for Cas.

“Send me a picture,” Dean told him, because he wasn’t going to fly over if it was just another one of the hundred thousand dead ends. Plenty of those dead ends turned out to have been ‘leaked’ by people who wanted to meet Dean in person, and those meetings almost always ended with tears – the rabid _Twilight_ fan kind.

The picture that came didn’t have the greatest resolution, but it made Dean’s hands go cold with the rush of recognition.

But when he hopped over on the next clear wind, the body was gone.

“He was here last night, sir,” the head doctor said. The nurses behind her shrunk back at the look on Dean’s face, but the doctor stood her ground. “Our security was constant, sir, as according to the angel Baraqiel’s instructions.”

“You’re warded?” Dean asked. If he weren’t so preoccupied with the frustration of losing a lead, he would’ve seen the protective marks all over the building. “You sure that nothing could have come in?”

“We do not block our hospital against angels,” the head doctor said. “But last night we placed the patient in our special wing marked with blinding magic. No angels could have gone in there.”

So Dean was back at square one.

  


* * *

  


Anna looks up from the open beer bottle when Dean walks into the kitchen. “You got him,” she says, because Dean’s not making any effort to control his expression.

“Can you find Daniel again?” Dean asks as he opens the fridge.

“Should be.” Anna looks at him suspiciously. “What’re you thinking, Dean?”

“Cas is antsy.” Dean pulls out two bottles, squinting at the label. “I think he’ll be more open to discussion if he knows that his kid is close by.”

Anna looks dubious. “Or he could go nuclear on your ass.”

“Just get him,” Dean says. “Bring Claire while you’re at it.”

“I still think it’s a bad idea, Dean!” Anna calls after him as he exits the kitchen.

The walk back to the basement feels longer this time, and there’s a horrible moment when his eyes haven’t adjusted to the dim lighting and he can’t immediately find the figure that should still be standing in the circle of low-lying flames.

Then his eyes adjust and he can breathe again.

Castiel’s face is suspiciously innocent.

Dean glances up. One of the light bulb chains directly above Cas has been loosened.

“What were you planning to do with that?” Dean is genuinely curious.

“Improvise.” Castiel shrugs, the movement natural. “Better than standing here quietly waiting for the next wave of interrogation.”

“Yeah, I guess I’d do the same,” Dean admits. “Drink?”

“No, thank you.”

The room is silent while Dean puts one bottle down and twists the cap off the other. With his attention on the beer he can feel the press of Castiel’s gaze, but as soon as he straightens up, Castiel is looking at the floor again.

It isn’t guilt that has Castiel’s eyes cast down, Dean knows that. He is standing perfectly still but it is not in patience. He is carefully poised on the edge of flight, undoubtedly calculating the best course of action to achieve his freedom. It occurs to Dean that the last time Cas was in a similar situation, his captor was Lucifer.

At least, the last time that Dean knows about. There’s five years unaccounted for, and an angel who seems unwilling to account for it.

Dean steps close enough that the tips of his boots feel the warmth of fire. He drinks slowly, like this is a game of chicken. Dean’s need to know versus Castiel’s desire to leave: who’ll cave first?

Apparently, it’s Castiel.

“You gain nothing from keeping me here,” he says.

Dean feels a cold rush when Castiel finally looks at him, for there is a startling emptiness there. Where once Cas had been completely on board with learning about the weirdness of humanity – head tilt and inappropriate questions abound – there is now a black hole, curiosity purged.

“Don’t you want to know what I’ve been up to all this while?” Dean asks.

“I know what you’ve been up to,” Castiel says bluntly. “Your exploits are well-known over all four corners of the globe.”

Dean winces.

“What do you want from me?” Castiel asks, and isn’t that funny, because Daniel asked that same question earlier.

“I want answers,” Dean says, just as bluntly. “Where did you go?”

“I went to have Daniel.” Castiel relaxes a little, apparently relieved at the implication that offering this knowledge will set him free. “After our last coupling, I took flight and was surprised when I found a soul tethered to my wings. It was Daniel’s soul, new and fragile. I had to flee, for I knew that if the other angels found us, they would not hesitate to destroy him.”

“_Immediately_ after?” Dean thinks back to their last night in the Impala. “But… I’m the one that got pegged that night, I’m pretty sure.”

“The specifics of the coupling were irrelevant. It was act itself that mattered. I’m not sure of the exact mechanisms in play, but what little research I’ve gleaned on the matter implies that it was Michael’s blending of his grace with your soul that acted as the trigger.”

“So…” Dean considers this, “It’s because I got angel’ed up that you got knocked up?”

“In a nutshell.”__

Yay, Michael. “You couldn’t have told me?”

“You were busy,” Castiel says.

The same urge to punch Castiel in the face rises. Dean distracts himself by taking a long swig of the bottle as he tries to figure out what it is about this conversation that’s bugging him.

Castiel’s expression is too steady. He isn’t _unfeeling_, since there’s the same edge of frustration in the occasional flicker of his eyes, so he at least hasn’t regressed back to the obedient little hammer he used to be. But there _is_ something different about him, and it’s driving Dean nuts that he doesn’t know what it is.

He used to be so open, so easy to read. Every emotion was clear because Cas had no experience in masking them. Whether interest, confusion, happiness or worry, all were bold colors on Cas’ face.

Apparently Cas has gained quite a few skills while he was away.

“I looked for you,” Dean says, hoping this statement will provoke something familiar. “I had everyone looking for you.”

“I know,” Castiel says, an unexpected huff of amusement in his voice. “You made it very difficult for me to stay hidden.”

“Good,” Dean snaps. That doesn’t get a rise from him either.

The sad thing is, Dean’s painfully close to doing something stupid like asking if Cas missed him at all. That’d be a no-win situation, so Dean shoves that question deep beneath the frustration of trying to navigate around an angel who’s gone old-school by giving answers without _giving_ _actual answers_.

“Can I go now, Dean?” Castiel asks tentatively.

  


* * *

  


The first time Dean slept with Cas was the night of the failed brothel outing.

It was the natural thing to do. Even after they’d left the brothel behind, the atmosphere of the moment remained warm and easy, like a cocoon had folded over them to shut out the rest of the world, even if only for a while. There would be fewer moments like that from then on out – if any at all – so it was simple enough to make the decision to twist his fingers into Cas’ coat and pull.

“Dean?” Up close, Cas’ eyes were blue enough to drown in.

“You know what they say…” Dean leaned in for the first dry press of his mouth to Cas’. “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”

“Who says?” Cas asked.

Damn, it felt good to laugh. It felt better still to take Cas’ mouth again, coaxing it open to lick deep inside and swallow the surprised gasp that rose.

Normally Dean wouldn’t have the patience for this, but everything about Cas’ response made him determined to take things nice and slow.

“I don’t…” Cas was fascinated by the unbuttoning of his own shirt at Dean’s fingers. “I don’t know how…”

“It’s okay,” Dean said soothingly, dragging a palm up the length of his bared chest, flicking a finger against a nipple along the way. “Just relax and let me take point.”

Cas obviously didn’t know what that meant exactly, but he understood the sentiment and deliberately relaxed. The face that gazed up at his was so open and trusting that Dean made it a personal mission to make this be good. Not many people were lucky enough to have a good first time, but Cas was a special case. Dean’s word was his bond, and in no time he had Cas pliant and ready on the mattress beneath him.

And _then_ Cas learnt the fun of having his mind blown.

The sight of Cas arching his back, red of his mouth dragged open by a wordless cry of bliss, would’ve made Dean chuckle with satisfaction if he weren’t preoccupied with coming as well.

“Dean,” Cas gasped. Angels didn’t need to breathe, so Dean deserved a trophy for fucking one breathless. “Dean, Dean, _Dean_...”

“I know.” Dean grinned against Cas’ collarbone, tongue flicking out to track a line of sweat. “No need for thanks.”

Cas was still staring up at the ceiling when Dean rolled off him. “I didn’t know it would be like that,” he said.

Dean shimmied against the mattress, trying to find the best position to rest his soon-to-be sore ass. “Good, huh.”

“_Yes_,” Cas said emphatically.

“And _that_, Cas, is why you got to survive tomorrow,” Dean said. “So you can do that again as many times as you want, with as many people as you want.”

There was a careful silence. “I see,” Cas said, voice level.

“Hey, we gotta get cleaned up,” Dean said, after a few quiet heartbeats of rest. “It’s gonna get real sticky real soon.”

When Cas didn’t move, Dean shoved at him, pushing fingers under his arms and getting a startled laugh for the effort, thus proving that angels _could _be ticklish.  They stumbled to the shower after, making do with the tight fit and learning that angel stamina was pretty damn awesome.

  


* * *

  


“You in a hurry to get somewhere, Cas?” Dean asks.

Castiel’s facial expression hasn’t changed, but the fingers inside the long hem of his jacket-sleeves are twitching in a nervous tic. “You know I am, Dean,” Castiel says, voice far too controlled. “I wish to return to Daniel.”

“Keep your socks on,” Dean says, picking up the remaining beer bottle on the floor. “Anna’s bringing him here.”

Castiel inhales sharply. “No.”

“She’ll protect him.” Dean steps in close to catch the expressions that flickered one after another on Castiel’s face. “You know you can trust her.”

“I do,” Castiel says hesitantly, “But this is…”

“_Relax_, Cas,” Dean says, relieved to have finally gotten a reaction out of him. “Here, have a beer.”

“No, thank you.” Castiel glances at Dean’s hand with faint surprise. “You don’t have Michael’s essence anymore.”

“Nah, I got a maybe a spoonful left. Kinda tingly.” Dean moves his arm over the border of the fire ring, a line of the reflective light curving across the sleeve of his shirt. The only thing he can feel is the faint drag of something like static electricity across his skin. “Look, Cas, just take the beer. It’s the polite thing to do when you visit someone’s house.”

A hand reaches for the bottle, while Castiel’s expression rests somewhere between amused and sarcastic. “I did not _visit_, Dean, I…”

Castiel is quick. He’s pulled his hand back and closed his expression like a goddamn door but Dean knows what he saw.

The skin of Dean’s hand still tingles where they touched, and that has absolutely nothing to do with static electricity or holy fire.

Finally, _finally_, there is something Dean recognizes in Castiel’s eyes.

“Cas?” Dean says.

If Castiel were still before, he’s practically _dead_ now because his shoulders are tight and he’s stopped breathing.

Everything about him screams control. _Keep it down_, keep it hidden, _keep it away_, and suddenly Dean stops feeling guilty for the way he’s been half-hard for a while now, memories of Cas’ skin and the sounds he makes when he’s delirious with pleasure bleeding to the forefront of Dean’s mind every other minute in this awkward tête-à-tête of theirs.

There should be Air Supply or something playing when Dean steps over the ring and Castiel’s eyes go wide – as wide as they used to go when Dean annoyed him by being as human as he could be.

“Dean…” He is _so_ not imagining the low heat in Castiel’s voice.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean crowds in close.

It is Castiel who moves. It is Castiel who drops his beer bottle with a disinterested clatter and surges forward for that first shocking kiss, hand clamping around Dean’s neck so tight he can feel each and every finger.

It _burns_.

The desire that’d been simmering low suddenly flares up so bright it’s almost a physical thing, hunger like claws in Dean’s nerve endings. This is what it feels to have the searing iron of _five fucking years_ pressing down on them, forcing them close and tight and desperate, hands pulling at cloth frantically to get to skin.

“Cas,” Dean groans, before Cas fuses their mouths together again and talking just takes too much effort.

Dean faintly hears something tear but _who cares_, he’s managed to get Cas’ jacket off and then Cas is bringing them both down to the floor. Firm hands push Dean on to his back, and then Cas is crawling on top of him, glorious weight and heat pressing Dean against cement.

Cas pauses the devouring of Dean’s mouth to look down and make quick work of Dean’s pants – buttons and zipper the obstacles to his goal. Dean’s head falls back to the floor with a surprised thump when Cas’ hand wraps firmly around his dick.

He didn’t even know he was that hard until Cas’ sure fingers started pulling at his erection. He’s so hard he’s going to burst, and he’s going to _like_ it.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Dean mutters, tugging at Cas’ pants. He can’t seem to get a grip on the buttons, so Cas uses his free hand to pop them open – _so hot_ – and then Dean slides his own hand inside. He growls approvingly when he finds Cas just as ready for it, and then they’re working each other furiously.

It’s not going to last. It can’t, not when it’s about the sharp, serrated edges of a desire denied for too long.

So they pant and gasp against each other, alternating bites and hungry kisses wherever they can reach until completion hits them both – Cas first, Dean soon after – and it’s like getting hit in the skull with a goddamn cement truck.

Fuck, _yes_.

Dean’s shaking for a long time after, but he takes comfort in the fact that Castiel is, too. So they lie there quietly in a sweaty half-dressed mess in the middle of a dry basement with the light of holy fire flickering all around them like some bizarre porno set.

Castiel’s still not an emotionless bastard, then.

“That was…” Dean’s tongue feels thick in his mouth.

“Give me a moment,” Castiel says.

After a few more shuddering breaths, Castiel sits up and waves his magic angel hand, cleaning both of them up instantly. The same efficiency he’d shown in undressing returns in the opposite direction, Castiel’s fingers swift and sure as they fix Dean’s pants and shirt, followed by his own.

Dean watches Castiel pull his jacket back on and then make a grab for the discarded beer bottle, yanking the cap off and taking a long swig.

The unease returns to Dean’s stomach, but he manages a flippant, “So you _have_ missed me.”

Castiel levels an inscrutable look at him, even as those luscious lips are wrapped around the beer bottle. “No more than you missed me,” he says pointedly. “They’re here.”

“Who?”

“Anna and my son.” Castiel taps a finger against an ear and then flicks it upwards. “Super-angel hearing, remember?”

“Uh… Does Daniel have super-angel hearing as well?”

“No, Dean,” Castiel says, though he is not quite smiling. “I’m not certain if I should add a ‘yet’.”

  


* * *

  


“Sam’s still pissed with you, by the way,” Dean said. When he glanced over, Cas didn’t look bothered too much by that information. “You didn’t _really_ want to kill Jesse, did you?”

“I was frightened,” Cas admitted. “I’ve never been in the presence of something so powerful. My first thought was to remove it from the equation.”

“You know,” Dean said, leaning over to poke Cas in the shoulder, “If God exists, _He’d_ be that powerful.”

“That is different.” Cas looked affronted. “My Father has the wisdom deserving of that power, so He may use it for what is right.”

“So you say,” Dean said, making a face at Cas and smirking when it got the desired reaction. “But if we were to look at His track record… Hey, I’m just saying!”

“Your words trouble me sometimes,” Cas said, shaking his head.

“Only sometimes?” Dean’s chuckle died in his throat when Cas moved to stand in front of him, sliding in close like all those calm, rational discussions about the importance of personal space never happened.

“How can you not be afraid?” Cas asked, standing near like he wanted to pull the answers straight out of Dean’s eyes. “Jesse can destroy the world with a thought, and he is a _child_, Dean. Children get angry. And now he is alone, with no one to guide him or tell him what is right.”

“That’s cold blood, Cas,” Dean growled. “I’ve killed a lot of things, but even I have standards. You can’t judge Jesse for something he hasn’t done yet.”

“Oh?” Cas made a sound that, if he were human, would’ve been a snort. “What of all those people who’ve already died due to that _child’s_ beliefs? What of them?”

“That was a mistake.”

“There will be more mistakes to follow.”

“Maybe. You can’t know for sure.” It sucked when Cas occasionally had a point.

“I…” Cas looked away to contemplate the parking lot. “I didn’t want to kill him. I thought that it was a test, that if I were strong enough to come upon Jesse that God would stay my hand, or… something. I don’t know.”

There was a tremor in his voice that threw Dean’s mind back to Zachariah’s dystopian future and the Cas that Dean never wanted to see again. The echo was faint but still there like the first pebble before the avalanche.

“Hey,” Dean said. “Don’t give up on us yet.”

“I’m not, Dean.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Dean sighed. “It’s difficult to make your own choices when there’s no way to know which one’s right, if any of them are.”

Cas relaxed, already looking much calmer. “I don’t regret choosing you, Dean.”

“Uh, glad to hear it.”

“I do trust you.” Cas looked at him sharply, as though something had just occurred to him. “Dean, you must believe me.”

“’Course I do.”

“You may have been right today.” Cas was frowning now. “God would not have let Jesse come into existence if he did not have some purpose to fulfill.”

“That’s… not exactly what I was going for.”

Cas suddenly drew himself up and nodded firmly, apparently having come to some sort of decision. “I will make the effort to listen to you better.”

“And Sam,” Dean said quickly. “Sam’s opinion counts, too.”

Cas hesitated, but there was nothing but honesty in his voice when he said, “Yes. I shall attempt to listen to Sam, as well.”

“Maybe you should tell him yourself,” Dean said, only half meaning it.

So, of course, Cas poofed himself into the motel room to do just that.

  


* * *

  


Daniel is sitting on the couch when Dean returns to the living room. Anna is curved next to him protectively, fingers playing with his hair until Daniel makes a face and tries to wriggle away.

“Hello, again,” Dean says. He comes to a halt when he sees the blonde standing near the wall.

“Winchester,” Claire says, making a bee-line for him. She’s all grown up into long legs and short-cropped hair; Dean is still processing this when she grabs his arm and drags him into the kitchen.

“Dean, please,” he says, once they’re next to the fridge and she’s let her iron grip go. “Call me Dean.”

“What have you done with Castiel?” she demands.

“He’s downstairs,” Dean says. “We’re having a chat.”

Claire blinks a few times, unimpressed. “Downstairs. A chat.”

For two seconds Dean considers and discards the idea of mentioning the part where they had a pretty fuckin’ awesome mutual jerk-off. “Yeah, a chat. People do that sometimes, especially when they haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“You’re holding him prisoner,” Claire gasps with angry accusation. “Let him go!”

“Not before I’m ready,” Dean says. “You’ve had him for five years, so give me five minutes, why don’t you.”

“This isn’t right,” Claire says, shaking her head. “You can’t make him talk like that. You have to let him out.”

“What, so he’ll fly off again?” Dean glares at her. “I called you. You and your mom, back when—”

“I know.” Claire looks apologetic. “But we promised him we wouldn’t tell you. Mom wanted to, she really did, but we _did _promise.”

“Cas needed help and he went to you.” It stings to think about, because Dean had always thought that he and Sam were all Cas had. To know that Cas had turned his back on them and fled to_ another_, especially when it was for something that did directly affect them, was just crappy.

“He should be the one telling you this,” Claire says. “And he _will_, once you let him out.”

“I’m not going to,” Dean says firmly.

“_Dean_.” The glare of Claire’s eyes is way more mature than it should be for someone of her age. “He was going to come to you anyway. Why do you think the summoning worked this time when it hasn’t before?”

Oh. Dean hadn’t actually wondered about that. “Huh.”

“Look, all I know is that he went to fetch Daniel and came back pretty damn upset, muttering about you and Anna and other stuff,” Claire said, and she actually sounded pretty worried. “I could barely make sense of it, and then he was suddenly saying that he was going to undo the hiding charms since it was finally time to see you, or something, and he’d _just_ undone his and _poof_! He’s gone. To your basement, apparently. It gave me a _fright_, okay.”

“Gave _you_ a fright?” Dean laughs. “Let me tell you something. Castiel was _not_ going to come see me. If he were, he wouldn’t be making such a big fuss as he is right now.”

“You caught him unawares, Dean!” Claire shakes her head with disbelief. “He’d barely gotten over the shock of seeing you again—”

There’s a thrill to hear that.

“—then you had to go and yank the carpet right out from under him.” Claire rolls her eyes. “I’m not even going to start about how panicked he gets when he doesn’t know where Daniel is.”

Dean decides not to be swayed by this. “I don’t even know you. You lied about Cas before.”

Claire pokes a finger at his chest, angry and unafraid. “Let me tell you something, Dean Winchester. Castiel is very brave, except when it comes to _you_.”

That makes no sense.

What reason would Cas have to be afraid of him?

“Let him go,” Claire pleads softly. “Castiel has to choose to tell you. Give him that opportunity.” There’s more she knows and wants to say. It’s written all over her face but still she turns away from him and returns to the living room.

The moment she’s gone Dean finds himself unexpectedly deflating.

She has a point. Castiel is tense and brittle, and Dean’s not helping by trying to squeeze the answers out of him. That won’t get him anywhere except pounding against a wall of divinely stubborn resistance.

As Dean leaves the kitchen, he passes by one of Bobby’s shelves and something catches his eye. Feeling a little lightheaded from a possibly brilliant (or possibly devastatingly stupid) idea, he grabs one of the books and takes it with him.

“Hey, Daniel,” he says.

Daniel looks up, as if he hopes that Dean can rescue him from Anna’s grip. “Hello, Dean,” he says.

The words make Dean shudder, but he covers it up by offering the book to the kid. “Here, you might want to catch up on some reading.”

Daniel takes the book, gasping softly when he sees what it is. “I haven’t gotten this far,” he says, already eagerly flipping it open.

“I’m sure Anna can fill you in if you have any questions,” Dean says.

Anna nods, smiling gently. “I could read it to you.”

“No need,” Daniel says quickly, the concentration on his face meaning that he’s already well into the first couple of paragraphs. Then he tenses up and turns to Anna. “Why is Dean in Hell?”

Dean leaves Anna to explain the backstory leading up to _Lazarus Rising_. He passes by Claire on the way back to the basement and she merely glances at him, eyebrow raised in a cool challenge that Dean doesn’t acknowledge.

Castiel is as Dean left him, standing perfectly still next to a now-empty beer bottle.

“Can you stay for a while?” Dean asks.

“How long is a while?”

“A few days?” It’s a shot in the dark. Dean isn’t sure what he hopes to accomplish or how he hopes to accomplish it, but it feels like a step in the right direction when Castiel nods slowly.

Dean splashes some beer on a part of the fire ring. Castiel is visibly relieved when he steps through the opening; Dean is relieved when Castiel does not vanish.

“So how’ve you been?” Dean asks as they walk upstairs together.

“I’ve been well, for the most part,” Castiel says. “And you?”

“So-so,” Dean shrugs. It’s stupid, but the small talk feels like a victory of its own.

  


* * *

  


“You might want to check on the angel,” Sam said, jerking a thumb towards the bathroom.

“I will do that,” Dean said, “And you will _not_ turn the tv on. We’ve had enough of that for one day.”

Sam gave him a big fat _d’uh_ of a face before turning the motel’s tv-on-wheels around to face the wall.

In the bathroom, Cas was standing at the sink, staring at his reflection but making no move to wipe the bloodstains from his nose and forehead. He looked confused, as if the mirror had just told him that he wasn’t the fairest in the land and he had no idea what to do with that information.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“If Gabriel has been here on Earth undetected for so long,” Cas said, “How many others are there?”

“You getting an idea there, Cas?” Dean asked.

“I could expand my search,” Cas said, nodding. “There may be other angels on Earth that don’t want to see it destroyed.”

“You’d think that the Trickster – _Gabriel_ – would feel that way,” Dean said. “Considering how much he _loves_ fucking around with us for entertainment.”

A flicker of a smile passed over Cas’ face, like he was finally starting to understand some of the finer nuances of Dean’s sense of humor. “Yes. He would be very bored without you around.”

Dean knocked his shoulder in quiet approval. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I have,” Cas said. “I’m too tired to clean myself just yet.”

“Or you could just do it the old-fashioned way.” Dean reached for some of the unused cotton swabs on the counter, dabbing them in water before dragging them across Cas’ nose and lip. “Does it still hurt?”

“No.” Cas had gone very still, eyes turned just a half-inch to the side to avoid looking Dean straight-on.

The reason that Dean knew that Cas was suddenly thinking about the epic popping of his cherry a couple of months ago was because Cas was absolutely useless at hiding what he was feeling. It was still a new thing to see that sudden flicker of _want_ over Cas’ face – like he wasn’t sure how to process that, let alone how to subdue it.

Feeling bold and a little reckless, Dean tossed the cotton swab aside and dragged a thumb across Cas’ lower lip, pulling his mouth open to reveal the dark interior.

“Are you pondering what I’m pondering, Pinky?” Dean asked.

Cas frowned, right on cue. “I… think so?”

Dean kicked the door shut – Sam’d get the hint – and turned the shower on.

Cas was just as willing to go with the flow as his first time, undressing quickly at Dean’s instruction and then stepping into the shower with Dean close behind.

“Gotta get you good and clean, Cas,” Dean promised, sinking down to his knees.

  


* * *

  


It’s like some unseen wire snaps loose in Castiel’s body when he sees Daniel on the couch. There’s no dramatic name-calling or hug-claiming, though, just the calm stride of daddy angel up to the couch and baby half-angel looking up with an acknowledging nod.

“Hello, Castiel,” the kid says.

“Are you hungry?” Castiel asks. He turns to Dean. “Is there something we can cook?”

“You can check the fridge, but I think there’s only snacks in there,” Dean suggests. While Castiel goes to do just that, Dean rifles through the takeaway pamphlets next to the phone. “Or we can get takeaway. What’d you like, Daniel?”

“I’m not fussy,” Daniel says.

“Get him pizza,” Claire whispers. She’s sitting cross-legged in the opposite chair, one of Bobby’s demonology tomes open in her lap. “He doesn’t get to have greasy food that often.”

Figures. “Here you go.” Dean dials the number before tossing the cordless at her.

“Anna, Anna,” Daniel suddenly says urgently. He pulls at her arm, trying to get her to look at a page in the book. “Castiel is in this.”

“Yes, he is,” Anna says.

Daniel looks like his little mind is blown. “I knew it.”

“How much does he actually know?” Anna asks, which is what Dean wants to know as well.

“Castiel’s easing him into the literature,” Claire says, eyes meeting Dean’s meaningfully. “So there was a lot of other stuff Castiel wanted Daniel to get through before he finally let me buy a set of the _Supernatural _books.”

“Backstory is important,” Daniel says.

“Should I make you read the rest of the books first, then?” Dean asks.

“No!” Daniel clutches _Lazarus Rising _to himself. “I’ve already started.”

When Dean looks up, Castiel is standing in the kitchen doorway. Their gazes meet and they both know that it won’t be long before Daniel connects the dots. Dean kinda hopes that he’ll know how to react when it happens, though that’s probably a long shot because he still doesn’t know how he _feels_ about it to begin with.

Dean _is _surprised that Cas didn’t stop the kid from reading the book, but when he sees the look on Castiel’s face now it occurs to him that the angel is _relieved_.

Maybe Cas didn’t think he had the right to tell Daniel everything without Dean’s permission.

Huh.

“There are some things in the refrigerator that we can use for breakfast,” Castiel says. “But having something delivered for dinner should be all right.”

“We’re staying the night?” Daniel asks, surprised.

“Yes,” Castiel says.

“Great, I didn’t pack anything,” Claire says, though there’s warmth in her eyes.

It hits Dean then that this is the largest group of people he’s spent time with in a while. The blend of different voices feels strange in his dusty ears, but he isn’t tense on the verge of fleeing. These people don’t want anything from him. In fact, it’s the exact opposite, which is novel.

He almost wishes that Sam and Bobby were here, just to complete the set.

_Almost_.

Castiel occupies himself by checking the new guest room added to the back of the house and making sure it’s inhabitable. Daniel devours the book page after page, his requests for clarifications from Anna drying out when he’s well into the third act. Claire finds more of Bobby’s old books and starts taking notes on post-its, apparently perfectly content to make use of the Singer knowledge base since the owner isn’t around.

Dean mostly tries to sort out his thoughts and plan a second wave of attack.

Pizza arrives when Daniel is about the finish the last chapter, and he makes a hilarious whining sound when Castiel plucks the book out of his hands and deposits it on a high shelf.

Daniel spins around at Dean’s laugh, one finger pointed at him accusingly. “You’re _the_ Dean Winchester.”

Dean catches Castiel’s eye; the angel makes a tiny nod. “Yeah. I am.”

Daniel looks at Dean for a long moment, as though trying to wrap his mind around this amazing new piece of information, and then his little face breaks into wide-eyed excitement. “Can I meet Sam? He’s really cool.”

“Sam is _not_ cool,” Dean responds, horrified. “Just for that I _am_ gonna make sure you meet him, so you’ll know firsthand how very_ not_ cool he is.” He stumbles when Anna, cackling softly, shoves her shoulder at him as she passes by.

Anna pays for the pizza while Dean plays the suspicious bastard and watches from the windows. He shouldn’t have to, since Anna’s the one with the fully-working angel sense, but it’s still a relief to see that the pizza-delivering girl has a protective tattoo on her wrist. One can never be too sure, especially with a household of people with genuine reasons for paranoia.

Castiel has set up the kitchen table to magazine-photo standards, folded napkins and everything. There is nothing awkward in his mannerisms when he cuts the pizza and serves it to them one by one.

“You still eat, Cas?” Dean asks, when he sits down.

“I enjoy it, yes,” Castiel says, which is something else new to catalogue.

Daniel says grace before they tuck in, and Dean really doesn’t know what to make of the unexpectedly Hallmarkian feeling he’s getting that he can’t even blame on heartburn.

  


* * *

  


Dean was surprised to find Cas and Jo talking on the porch. Their body language was interesting: Cas’ slightly-off posture turned towards Jo with interest, and Jo sprawled out and relaxed, one leg draped along the seat close enough to tap an ankle against Cas’ knee.

“Are you going to carry the Colt or shall I?” Sam asked from where he was checking the bullets Crowley had given them. “Dean?”

“I’ll take it,” Dean said, not taking his eyes away from the sight outside the window. “I’m supposed to be the one to kill Lucy anyway.”

Jo was laughing, and Dean felt his own face respond to the sight, mouth curling up in stubborn resistance of the heavy weight of what they were going to do tomorrow. Cas was smiling back at her, the joke apparently shared, and he remained still when she reached a hand out to flick at a particularly wayward lock of his hair.

“Dean,” Sam said. “Please stop with the scary stalker thing.”

“I’m not being a scary stalker,” Dean said. “That’s Cas’ job.”

“Just because Jo shot you down—”

“I’m just _looking_,” Dean said defensively, turning around to glare at his brother. “Geez, what is with you?”

Sam raised his hands up in a two-palmed _whatever_ before pointedly going back to studying the bullets.

“Okay, boys,” Ellen said, strolling into the room, “Better call it night soon. We got a big day tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean leaned away from the window when Ellen pressed in, rapping a finger against the glass and pointing a finger at Jo.

Jo was still smiling when she came into the house, sparing only an affectionately raised eyebrow in Dean’s direction before following Ellen to their bunking down area. “Better get your beauty sleep, Winchesters.”

Cas was patting his hands together, apparently intrigued by the coldness still on his skin.

“Don’t stay up too late, Dean,” Sam hissed before making his own exit, completely missing Dean’s eye-roll.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. “Guess what day it is?”

“Friday.”

“No, the other one.” At Cas’ blank look, Dean said, “It’s our last day on Earth. Hey, those were _your_ words, no mincing.”

“I said it was our last _night_ on Earth, Dean, if you’d like to be more accurate in quoting what I say,” Cas said.

Dean looked at him, wondering if he could pack enough intent in his stare for Cas to remember what they got up to the _last_ time it was someone’s last night on Earth. When Cas still looked perplexed, Dean took his turn to invade Cas’ personal space, leaning in close and raising his eyebrows in a blatantly obvious expression that would’ve earned him a slap at any respectable bar.

“Oh. _Oh_.” Cas looked alarmed. “But…”

“Last night on Earth.” Dean grinned.

Cas glanced back to the doorway Jo had disappeared through. “But… you propositioned Jo…”

“Yeah, well,” Dean shrugged. “I’m just sayin’.”

Humanity _was_ rubbing off on Cas, because he blinked rapidly through confusion and reluctance before a decision brought Cas’ back up straight and eyes settled on something dark and ready. “All right.”

“Super,” Dean said, curling a finger in a gesture for Cas to follow.

  


* * *

  


Claire lifts Daniel with the same ease and familiarity as Castiel. Daniel blinks sleepily but doesn’t protest, one hand still stubbornly holding on to _Are You There, God?_ as he’s carried to the downstairs guest room.

“She’s been a great help to you, huh,” Dean says.

Castiel is standing next to him, a safe couple of inches between their shoulders. “Yes. I would have made a terrible mess of caring for a newborn on my own.”

“Yeah, about that…” Dean steals an inch of space, trying not to feel too triumphant when Castiel doesn’t move away. “How’d that even _happen_?”

“Not easily,” Castiel answers honestly. “The process was... intense. I had to leave my vessel during that time for fear that it would be destroyed.”

“Let me guess.” Dean gave him a look. “In Burkina Faso?”

“Yes.” Castiel matches his look with one of his own. “The Novaks were instrumental in getting the vessel out before you arrived at the hospital. It was very Ferris Bueller.”

Dean starts. “When’d you watch…? Huh.”

“The process was also challenging in its difference from what I underwent rebuilding _your_ body,” Castiel says. “I at least had a frame of reference for you. With Daniel, I was working from nothing, borrowing from what I knew of Jimmy and you.”

“You could’ve just used Jimmy as a template,” Dean points out.

“It wouldn’t have been right,” Castiel says.

“And not telling me _is_?”

This new silence from Castiel doesn’t have the aggression of earlier. He sighs softly. “You were busy.”

“You keep saying that.” Dean shifts his body, one shoulder braced against the wall so he can give Castiel his full attention. “What does that even mean?”

“You wanted a break.” Castiel’s eyes have always held the unfathomable age of a being as old as time, but now there are new human lines around the eyes in the tell of a different kind of aging. “Caring for a newborn half-breed while on the run from angels and demons intent on assassination does not count as a break.”

It takes Dean a moment to remember what Cas is talking about. “Wait… I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did.”

“But there was after,” Dean presses. “After I gave everything to Sammy to handle, you could’ve come to me then. Even if only just to tell me.”

“It felt incongruous to go to you so long after the fact,” Castiel said, a sliver of guilt leaking into his voice. “The fact remains that I made a decision. Maybe it was the wrong one, but I made it, and I must live with it.”

“You’re different, Cas,” Dean says, trying not to sound disappointed.

“Time does that.” Cas gives him an easy once-over. “You’re different, too.”

“Still the same handsome bastard, though.”

“Wonderful bonus from Michael’s essence, don’t you think?” Castiel smiles gently.

It’s hard – _so fucking hard_ – for Dean not to just lean across and see if he can kiss that smile wider. “You made a joke,” he says instead.

“I do that sometimes.”

Dean looks away. He thinks about his quiet little cabin up north, complete with deck overlooking the lake and how it must be fucking freezing right now.

“Dean,” Castiel says in a voice that allows no resistance.

Dean turns, and he’s surprised by the stroke of long fingers on his cheek. The touch is gentle, but the kiss that follows soon after is anything but.

“Whoa,” Dean says when they pause for air – or, really, Cas pauses for Dean to get air.

Castiel rests a hand on Dean’s arm. “Would you let me—”

“Yes, yes, _yes_,” Dean says quickly, not really caring what Cas is asking for.

He has no complaints when he finds out what it is, because it involves them in a room upstairs with Dean on his knees and Castiel running his hands in hot streaks all over his back and arms and legs before lining up and going for it.

As Castiel thrusts in slowly, it quickly becomes apparent that the edge is still there, not burned out by the session in the basement as Dean had thought. It’s only been temporarily satiated, and as Castiel fucks him deep and deliberate, it rises up again and is just as sharp in its long-suppressed hunger.

Dean presses his face to the pillow, helpless to do anything but feel. Castiel is hitting all his buttons _spot on_, and it’s like Dean’s memory is fucked up or something, because it was good back then, but _this good_? Good enough that Castiel’s kisses sear angry heat straight up his spine; good enough that Dean pretty much comes his brains out at the casual swipe of a palm across his balls.

There is no such thing as Dean Winchester passing out from sex, but it happens anyway.

  


* * *

  


Sam looked a little green when he stepped out of the bathroom. “Is it normal to want to puke after time travel?”

“Nope,” Dean said. “You might want to have that checked.”

Sam threw a balled-up towel that Dean ducked easily. “Any change?”

“Yeah, he moved a bit. Clockwise, I think.”

“I’m serious, Dean.” Sam sat on the edge of the bed, carefully pressing two fingers to Castiel’s pulse point. “He said that it was dangerous for him to take both of us with him. If he’s hurt for good—”

“He’s not,” Dean said, flipping idly through a magazine. “It’ll take more than that to keep him down.”

Cas finally did wake up a couple of hours later. Sam was immediately all over him, while Dean took a moment to flip the mute button for the tv before wandering over.

“Where am I? What year is it?” Cas was a little wild-eyed, but he consciously calmed down when Sam quickly gave him the answers he wanted. “So I was successful. _You_ were successful. Excellent.”

“Wait, what are you—” Sam pushed him back down. “You’re in no condition to travel.”

“I have to…” Cas was swaying a little, his frown unfocused. “I have a mission.”

“You’re _injured_, Cas,” Sam said incredulously. “It can wait.”

“No, no, it’s getting close.” Cas tried to push Sam away, but human strength won out this one time and he ended up back on the bed, staring accusingly at the ceiling. “I cannot think clearly. This is inconvenient.”

Dean waved two fingers in front of Cas’ face. “How many fingers do you see?”

“Four, plus your thumb,” Cas answered.

“He’ll be fine,” Dean said to Sam. “Just needs a little R&amp;R.”

“Can I get you something?” Sam asked, still hovering over Cas. “Food, water… a Bible?”

“Time,” Cas said, the closest to drunk Dean’s ever heard him sound. “I would appreciate some time.”

Sam continued to fidget, so Dean ordered him to get the humans some dinner while the angel recharged himself. Sam still had that pathetic face on when he dragged his sorry ass out to find something decent to eat, and Dean waited for a couple of minutes before walking across the room and sitting down next to Cas.

“You need a cold compress or something?” Dean asked.

“No, thank you,” Cas said politely, still staring at the cracks in the ceiling.

“Okay, look.” Dean chose to look at the wallpaper on the opposite wall. “I’m sorry for making you risk yourself because of something I wanted.”

“You and Sam risk yourselves all the time,” Cas said. “It is war, Dean.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the war,” Dean told him. “I was thinking about my parents.”

Cas tried to look at Dean, but his eyes were still glassy. “Family is very important to you, Dean. I understand.”

It would’ve been shitty andpointless to mention that Cas turned his back on _his_ family, so Dean didn’t. “Yeah, family’s important. But you’re important as well. To us. Sam and me. Yeah.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said.

“Okay, now you gotta rest,” Dean said gruffly, rapping a knuckle against Cas’ sternum. “That’s an order.”

Cas politely made a conscious attempt to melt into the mattress. “Very well, Dean.”

  


* * *

  


There are few things in the world that Dean likes better than the liquidated muscle feeling of waking up after awesome sex. It takes him a moment to recall why he’s in this state, as well as why he’s clean and tucked in under a comforter in one of Bobby’s spare beds.

When he does remember he sits up sharply.

“Cas?” he calls out. His eyes adjust to the dark quickly, but Castiel isn’t in the room.

Dean pulls on a shirt and shorts before making the quiet trek downstairs. The only source of light comes from the television, which casts odd shadows on Anna.

“You’re going to spoil your eyes if you sit that close,” Dean says.

“I wish.” Anna doesn’t look up. “He’s checking the wards.”

“Thanks.” Dean starts to walk away when something occurs to him. “He say anything to you?”

“He apologized for freaking out in the diner,” Anna says, smiling to herself. “Which is more than I expected.”

Dean finds Castiel outside, studying the blood sigils and Enochian markers embedded at certain points in the perimeter. He’s dressed only in an undershirt and pajama pants, but doesn’t seem to notice the bitingly cold air. He doesn’t look up when Dean approaches, so determined is he in making sure that the place is secure.

“Can’t be too careful,” Castiel says suddenly. “It’s for my own sound of mind.”

“I getcha,” Dean says, wishing that he’d thought to put on something thicker than a ratty-ass shirt. “So you still don’t sleep.”

“Only on occasion,” Castiel says. “It’s good. I can keep watch when Noelle is asleep.”

Dean’s grabbed Castiel’s arm before he even realizes he’s moved. “Who’s Noelle?”

Castiel looks at the fingers locked tight around his forearm, then slowly meets Dean’s insistent gaze. “Claire. She decided to change her name when she joined me on the run to care for Daniel. It was part of our effort to remain hidden, as everyone now knows of my connection to the Novak line.”

“Oh.” Dean peels his fingers off. “Damn Chuck Shirley.”

“The Gospels have their own part to play,” Castiel says. He trails a hand up Dean’s bare arm, the warmth a very nice contrast to the cold air. “Though it did complicate things a great deal when the books were mass-printed _and_ you began your manhunt for me openly. Various creatures that bore ill-will towards you – or towards our side in general – began hunting me as well, most of them assuming that they could use me as leverage against the Winchesters in the new world.”

Dean grunts softly. “Don’t expect me to apologize for that.”

Castiel levels a look at him that is almost fond. “I don’t.”

“So you’re a tough guy now, huh.” It’s preferable to feel pride at this, instead of the retrospective terror of his imagination filling in the blanks of the things Cas must’ve faced on his own.

“I’m still alive.” Castiel shrugs, like it makes no difference to him. “As are Daniel and Noelle.”

It’s strange how Castiel seems so at ease with his new life. It’s like he’s achieved the peace that Dean’s always secretly wanted for himself. It figures that it’d happen this way, despite Dean being the one officially retired to the countryside and Castiel the one doing a Richard Kimble all over the planet.

“You’re cold,” Castiel says, fingers dipping inside the sleeve of Dean’s shirt. “Let me warm you up.”

Dean laughs at that, and doesn’t complain when Castiel zaps them back to the room and they fall to the sheets together.

It’s slower this time, long kisses interspersed with the lazy relearning of each other’s bodies. Dean shouldn’t be ready for round three so soon, but it turns out he still needs this, Cas’ skin alighting Dean’s nerves wherever their touch. The urgency is dimmed, so this time they’re able to make use of every inch of the bed and take their time rediscovering their favorite sensitive spots.

Dean still doesn’t feel there’s any rush when Castiel grabs the lube and coats his fingers. He’d be content to just watch the show of Castiel preparing himself, pushing his fingers in while Dean humps his thigh.

Castiel kisses him one more time before settling on to his stomach, ass raised invitingly.

Dean pushes in, and goes still.

It’s just as hot as he remembers, Castiel’s body awesome and welcoming, but…

Castiel moves restlessly at Dean’s cautious pace, spreading his legs wider in a blatant request for more. Dean keeps his thrusts steady, though it’s hard to concentrate when every shove in sends wonderful bursts of lighting up his spine.

“Cas?” Dean says.

“Harder,” Castiel says, fisting the sheets beneath him. “Come on, give it to me.”

Castiel is _loose_. Not overly so, since he’d still needed stretching earlier, but the resistance around Dean’s dick isn’t that of a celibate body, the muscle giving way easily to intrusion. Dean’s body likes it and is already picking up the pace when it’s obvious that he can, but Dean’s mind has gone somewhere else.

Has someone else fucked Cas like this recently? _Seen_ him like this, willing and shamelessly wanting it? Has someone else touched his skin, found that little spot on his hip that always makes him gasp, and then _gone inside_ and screwed that ass to orgasm?

It’s difficult, but Dean manages to stop the stuttering of his hips. “Cas.”

“Keep going!” Castiel begs.

“Roll over.” He pulls out so Castiel knows that he means it.

Castiel growls his frustration into the pillow, but doesn’t move. “You can get in deeper like this—”

“I said roll the fuck over,” Dean snaps, grabbing Castiel’s hips and helping him do just that.

Castiel looks annoyed at the interruption but he quickly settles in the new position and pretty much flings his legs over Dean’s shoulders, hooking his ankles together behind Dean’s head in a wordless demand for _now._

Dean regains his momentum and then some, his motions now fueled by a completely different kind of burning. He can’t stop wondering who else has shared this part of Cas, heard these little gasps he makes, or watched his whole body shudder when the angle is perfect.

That’s just _wrong_.

“Open your eyes,” Dean says. The bed is creaking, headboard tapping insistently against the wall with every quick shove in, but all Dean can hear are the sounds Cas is not making – the _name _he’s not saying. “Cas, open your eyes!”

Cas’ eyelids move like they weigh a ton, and it feels like forever before Dean can finally look into those dark pupils and know for sure that they are looking at _him_.

Only him, and no one else.

That’s when Castiel suddenly cries out with the first anguished sound to break his control. Hands clamp on to Dean’s hips, forcing him in faster, harder.

“Dean!” Castiel knows exactly what Dean is doing, and it’s making something in him fall apart. “_Why do you do this to me_?”

A few quick pulls and Castiel’s coming, wet and messy just the way Dean likes, but it feels incomplete and strangely hollow. Dean’s orgasm, when it hits, is just the same – good and shudderingly hot, but there’s a pea under the hundred mattresses that ruins the whole thing.

Dean’s almost close enough to understand. He can feel it, and he knows Castiel feels it as well.

“Where you going?” Dean asks, when Castiel eventually gets up.

“I’m going to have a shower,” Castiel says.

The line of Castiel’s back is a beautiful sight, but Dean doesn’t want to admire it right now. He forces his shaky legs to work and grabs at Castiel’s shoulder, making him turn around. “Cas.”

“You make things so difficult,” Castiel sighs.

“What are we doing?” Dean asks. “What just happened?”

“That was sex, Dean,” Castiel says plainly. “I like having sex with you, and I know you like having sex with me.”

“That’s not the only thing I’m talking about,” Dean says, because Castiel isn’t clueless anymore. The angel’s mouth is a thin, stubborn line, which does absolutely nothing in making Dean want to kiss it less. “Have you slept with other people?”

“That’s none of your business,” Castiel says.

“Humor me,” Dean says dryly. “I’d like to know whether I should have been wearing a condom.”

“Angels are immune to STDs,” Castiel says calmly. “You are safe.”

“Just answer the damn question!”

“No.” Castiel’s expression shifts, surprised at his own daring. “No, I don’t want to tell you.”

“You don’t want to tell me,” Dean echoes stupidly.

Castiel looks pleased, but the smile is not meant for Dean. “I could never say no to you before. I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to.” Then he leans forward and presses a finger to Dean’s nose. “_No_.”

Dean stares at Castiel’s self-satisfied smile, and then stares at the bathroom door when it’s shut in his face.

  


* * *

  


Dean didn’t want to listen to the sounds of Sam detoxing, but he wanted to see Cas, and the angel was standing guard outside the panic room. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s getting tired,” Cas answered. That was true for all of them.

“At least you won’t let him out this time,” Dean said, only realizing after the fact how in bad taste that was. He watched Cas wince and turn away – he’d picked up more human mannerisms recently – and it wasn’t difficult at all to catch his sleeve and pull. “C’mon.”

“It would be better if I remained here,” Cas said, still turned away.

“He’s locked down pretty good.”

“It’s not that…” Cas shifted awkwardly inside his trenchcoat, like he wanted to adjust his wings. “This is penance, of a kind. I need to remind myself of my own failings, that I may better myself. Things will only get more difficult from now on. If Famine alone can render me so useless, I shall be of no help to you in the future.”

Normally Dean would have let it go, but Cas wasn’t Sam, and Sam was too busy whimpering behind a metal door. So Dean felt absolutely no qualms about saying out loud, “I’m _dead inside_, Cas. You heard Famine back there, didn’t you, or were you too busy stuffing your face? That’s my only purpose, isn’t it? I’m supposed to be Michael’s letterman jacket and that’s _it_ – it doesn’t matter who I am, only _what_ I am.”

Cas looked shocked. “That’s not true, Dean. You _are_ important.”

“Why?” Dean laughed. “Everything I do turns to shit, so how can I possibly bring anything good to the world, let alone save it?”

Distressed, Cas quickly came forward to press hands on either side of Dean’s face. “No, Dean, please don’t say that. You have done well by Sam. He was strong enough not to give in to the call of the demon blood today—”

“That’s _him_ being strong, not me.”

“No, no, it’s all connected.” Cas was trembling. “You are connected, I know you are. I have seen you, Dean. I carried your soul from Hell, and it was intact and beautiful. If you were meant to be just a meatsuit, God would not have put you and Sam on the paths of your lives with all its trials and tribulations. There have never been brothers as deeply connected as the two of you, and we must have faith that it is all part of the plan.”

The words sounded hollow in Dean’s ears despite the intensity of Cas’ faith in speaking them. Dean marveled at how wonderful it must be to have that kind of conviction, and how awful it’d be to have that conviction shot down to smithereens.

“You are not dead inside, Dean,” Cas said, his breath warm against Dean’s mouth. “You are as passionate and greedy as you’ve ever been.”

“You make that sound like a good thing.”

Cas swallowed, unexpectedly nervous, and then carefully pressed his mouth to Dean’s.

The sudden twist low in Dean’s stomach was evidence enough that not all of his hungers had been extinguished. Dean slid his hands inside Cas’ jacket to find his waist, reveling in the feel of the firm body beneath his fingers.

Dean glanced over his shoulder to where the Impala was parked out. It’d be a tight fit, but that’d just make it interesting. “I’m sure it still counts as Valentine’s Day _somewhere_.”

  


* * *

  


Dean’s resting on the bed when Castiel comes out of the shower. He’s patting himself down with a towel but otherwise unashamed with his nakedness. Dean likes the show, but there’s bile in his mouth when he thinks of other eyes having feasted on those same miles of skin.

“You should get some sleep,” Castiel says, running fingers through his damp hair. “It’s been a long day for you.”

“What happened to you?”

Castiel goes still. He knows exactly what Dean’s talking about, but now he finally seems to be trying to form an appropriate response. “What was that word Jo used... Yes. I procured some self-respect.”

Dean blanches. “What?”

“I’m sorry, but you did ask.” Castiel puts the towel aside and starts picking up his clothes.

“What are you _talking_ about?” Dean demands.

Castiel pauses his dressing to look at Dean searchingly. “You don’t want to hear this.”

“I think _I’ll_ decide what I want to hear,” Dean says.

“It’ll be,” Castiel paused, “a chick flick moment.”

“I’ll risk it.” Dean still flinches when Castiel sits on the edge of the bed because everything about his posture screams imminent TMI Conversation. Castiel is quiet and watchful – offering an exit if Dean so wants it – and that just stiffens his resolve that he needs to stay exactly where he is.

“I am angel, Dean,” Castiel says, finally. “I was created to serve Heaven, and serve Heaven I did for a very long time without question or uncertainty. Then there was you. I must make it clear that I have not once regretted taking your side when I did. It was the right thing to do – perhaps the most right thing I will ever do in my existence.”

“There’s a ‘_but’_ coming,” Dean says.

“You have shown me friendship and kindness that I will treasure always.” Castiel’s smile is genuinely fond, which does nothing to calm the rotten taco feeling in Dean’s stomach. “Though it was only some time afterward that I learned what a difficult situation I put you in. I treated you as a substitute for everything I’d left behind, and that was… not right. Your burden was already so great and I only added to the load.”

Dean wishes he didn’t know what Castiel was talking about, but there’s only so far he can lie to himself. The intensity of Cas’ loyalty and the ease with which he laid himself down at Dean’s feet – _I’ll hold them off, I’ll hold them all off _– was not something he ever got used to. Why would he, when there couldn’t have been anyone less deserving of such devotion.

“I guess I understand why…” Dean manages to say. “You are what you are.”

“Yes. My sense of gravity – for lack of a better word – changed so abruptly that I didn’t know how to deal with it. Humanity by itself is bewildering enough, but to add that into the mix…” Castiel’s laughter is soft and startling. “The moment I made my decision that night to release you from Zachariah’s prison, I was no longer Heaven’s, but yours. Do you understand that, Dean?”

Dean remembers: the guilt of Cas’ death, of not wanting to think too closely about what Cas lost by rebelling, of constantly telling himself that Cas’ choice was worth it because Heaven was a bumfuck nowheresville of dicks.

Castiel brings a hand up to cover his face in a gesture of amused embarrassment, eyes warm with nostalgia. “When Famine called me your dog I didn’t know what that meant. I’ve learnt a number of your idioms since then, and ‘lost puppy’ is indeed a good analogy.”

“I never treated you like that,” Dean says angrily.

“No, of course not.” The fingers on Dean’s arm are gentle and reassuring. “But I was wrong to regard you with such idolatry when it wasn’t welcome. I know you hate that, but in my defense, I didn’t know at the time that my behavior was inappropriate.”

The interviews.

Cas has read the interviews Dean gave after they sold out and went mainstream.

The news circuit latched on to Sam like a limpet because he was well-spoken, intelligent and could kiss babies photogenically. The fact that he was an awkward-limbed Sasquatch seemed to turn people on even more (_no_, Dean didn’t get it), and with Becky Shirley leading the PR team, the world pretty much fell all over themselves for Sam Winchester: hero who rose up against a lifetime of circumstances to overcome the biggest bad guy of all. Yeah, the people adored Sam.

Dean, not so much.

“That’s different,” Dean says. “I hate my celebrity, sure, but you’re not like all those people. You’re one of us. You _know_ me.”

“Dean,” Castiel says cautiously, “I _loved_ you.”

It’s like being punched in the stomach.

Castiel continues, “I’m not talking about a platonic, friendship bracelet kind of love, Dean. I was _head over heels_ in love with you. I would’ve died for you a thousand times over without a second thought.”

There’s too much to process.

Dean’s always been uncomfortable with Cas’ dedication, but to have the reason for it confirmed so openly, with the most basic of descriptors, throws a million questions into the air. Was it conscious or just a side effect of choosing him over Heaven? Did Dean accidentally encourage it, or did it just happen? _When_ did it happen?

Was it before or after they started fucking?

(Castiel is using past tense.)

“So what you’re saying,” Dean’s voice totally isn’t shaky, “Is that you’re over me now.”

“You’re distressed.” Castiel reaches up to touch his face, and why the fuck is he so gentle? “You need your sleep.”

“Why didn’t you _say_ anything?”

“I didn’t know myself,” Castiel answers. “Emotions are complicated. Human beings have a lifetime to get used to them, to learn what they mean. I was thrown in the deep end, and it was like drowning. It took me a long time before I figured it out. Anyway, you wouldn’t have wanted to know.”

The worst part is that Castiel is _perfectly_ _right_, because Dean wouldn’t have wanted to know about this back then. He would’ve turned on Cas, just the way he did on anything that made him uncomfortable, usually by joking and deflecting the shit out of it. There were too many things on his plate already – Sam, Apocalypse, not falling to pieces under the weight of it all – and knowing this about Cas, knowing how much he _owned_ Cas, would not have helped at all.

“Please go to sleep. I will be here in the morning if you have any further questions, I promise.” Castiel kisses his brow, and his eyes are suddenly heavy. “Rest.”

  


* * *

  


Sam said yes to Lucifer in Detroit, and Dean got stinking drunk.

He hadn’t binged in a while, but if there ever was just cause, it’d just been signed, sealed and delivered. He might’ve drowned in a puddle of his own drool if Cas hadn’t shown up when he did.

Dean was too busy hating the whole world to appreciate the humiliation of Cas wiping his face, undressing him and bringing him to bed. Cas seemed to realize this, too, because he was quiet the whole time, letting Dean wallow in peaceful silence that lacked meaningless platitudes.

“There’s no way around it, is there?” Dean slurred as Cas adjusted the blanket around him. “All roads lead to the same des—desti… place.”

Cas’ job was done but his hands remained, stroking Dean’s forehead and sliding through his hair. Dean tried to shy away from the touch, grunting his displeasure at the alien gentleness of it. Cas seemed to get the hint and pulled away, but it turned out to be only so that he could slip under the covers with Dean, arms wrapped tight around him.

His body’s instincts screamed to break free – _trapped!_ – until the grip relaxed into something softer, Cas’ hands sweeping over Dean’s chest and stomach soothingly.

“S’not fair,” Dean mutters. “He said yes to save Bobby.”

“Please don’t give up, Dean,” Cas whispered, breath warm on his neck. “Dean, please.”

Cas could only hold him together for so long. With Sam gone, that was it: the end, game over, out of tokens.

“What’s the point, Cas?” Dean asked. “Everything we do makes it worse. What the hell is your Father up to?”

Cas stiffened. “Dean…”

“He created us just to watch us destroy ourselves.” Dean laughed, hysterical and self-deprecating. “Ant farm, sea monkeys, pretty puppets in a row, that’s all we are.”

“_Dean_.”

“If you ever find Him, I’m gonna…” There should have been something blasphemous tacked on the end there, but Dean passed out before he could think of something appropriate. Only much later Dean would realize that even a blasphemous rant could be a form of prayer.

When Dean woke up the next morning, there was a library card on the side table.

The world ended soon after that.

  


* * *

  


The sky outside the window is a faded grey when Dean wakes up. The room is empty, but there’s a fresh set of his clothes on the side table.

Dean is still half-asleep when he goes downstairs, but he snaps to full consciousness when he sees Daniel standing at near-perfect attention, accusation and awareness in his bright green eyes.

“You’re my father,” Daniel says. It’ll be a while before he’ll hit puberty, but he’s got that serious business intonation down pat.

“Yeah,” Dean says.

Daniel looks down at the paperback _In the Beginning_ that’s in his hands. “I don’t know if I want to read these anymore.”

Dean approaches, dropping to his knees to take the book from Daniel’s hands and flip through the pages.

>   
>  _Dean could only watch as the Yellow-Eyed Demon spilled from his grandfather’s mouth, escaping into the night in a flume of dark smoke, leaving behind quite the tableau: Mary (now tainted) holding John (still innocent) next to Samuel’s corpse (very dead). _
> 
> _A hand fell on to Dean’s shoulder. He turned around, expecting an enemy and finding only Castiel, a look of compassion on his face that should not have been there. _

“You’re not even at the good part yet,” Dean says quietly.

“But it feels weird.” Daniel shifts guiltily. “At least I’m not directly related to anyone in the Old Testament. I think.”

“It turns out all right.” Dean presses the book back into Daniel’s hand, folding his little fingers around it. “As all right as real life can be, anyway.”

Daniel shakes his head, trying to push the book back at Dean. “I don’t want to. It’s your _life_.”

Ain’t that a fact. “Just about everyone on the planet has read these books. I’m used to it.” No, he isn’t.

“Maybe you can tell me the story yourself,” Daniel suggests. “Since you were there.”

“I don’t…” Dean glances over Daniel’s shoulder to where Castiel is surreptitiously trying not to look like he’s listening from the kitchen. “That’d actually be pretty cool, but I don’t know if we have the time for that.”

“Oh?” Daniel’s eyes foretell the breaking of dozens of hearts. “Why?”

“Breakfast is ready,” Castiel announces loudly.

That’s apparently Daniel’s cue to fetch a bleary-eyed Claire – _Noelle_, now – from the downstairs guest room. Dean watches as they settle into what’s obviously an old routine of Noelle complaining about the food and Daniel expositing the nutritional value of scrambled eggs and toast.

“You cook?” Dean looks at the plate Castiel has put in front of him.

“I worked in the food industry for a while,” Castiel says.

“Castiel got fired once for exploding an oven,” Daniel says, swinging his legs under the seat. “But he didn’t get fired anymore after that.”

“_Thank you_, Daniel.” Castiel flicks his son’s hair as he passes.

“You learned to make a mean carbonara from that job, though,” Noelle says.

Anna pops in about halfway through with some store-brewed coffee, passing the Styrofoam cups around to those old enough to drink it.

It’s when breakfast winds down that it sinks in to Dean that they’re all here because of him. Castiel is here because Dean asked him to be, Daniel is here because Castiel wouldn’t stay otherwise, Noelle is here because she completes their unit, and Anna is here because she’s the closest equivalent to the wingman Dean needs in this situation. Whatever happens today is completely up to Dean and he honestly has no idea what that’s going to be.

“You know what I found lying around the place.” Anna’s face is the picture of innocence as she brings out two DVDs from behind her back.

Dean immediately faux vomits. “Holy water! Salt it!”

“I haven’t seen the James Cameron one,” Castiel says, taking the DVDs and studying them. “Why are these people completely different from the first film?”

“Because the first one tanked.” Dean tries to grab the cases so they won’t have to actually watch them, but of course Castiel side-steps him easily. “Or something. I don’t know, I don’t pay attention. _Cas_.”

“It would be educational,” Castiel says.

“He means that it’ll be fun to mock and point out all the inaccuracies,” Noelle says. “It’s what we did when we watched _The Passion._”

Dean whirls on Castiel. “You let Danny watch _The Passion_?”

Daniel starts at the use of the nickname, but does not draw attention to it beyond glancing at Dean suspiciously. “I missed most of that movie because Castiel kept covering my eyes. Anyway, I don’t think I want to watch the _Supernatural_ films. I’ve not yet finished the books, and I’m sure they left out lots of stuff to squeeze it to two hours.”

“Three and a half, actually,” Anna says. “_What?_ I got to be Cate Blanchett.”

Anna and Castiel start arguing over which modern-day silver screen representation of Christ is the most accurate. Their faces are alight and warm, both pleased with this tentative reforging of a once-close companionship, their betrayals and misunderstandings of old reduced to shadows almost as inconsequential as the films and books that attempt to tell their story.

Dean settles on the floor close to Daniel’s feet. “Hey.”

The kid looks at him, then at the discarded _In the Beginning_ paperback that is still on the table. “Would you have still have tried to stop Mary from making the deal if you knew what happens in the end?”

There is a _yes_ in Dean’s throat. It’s been lodged there since Cas telephone-box’ed him to the past and tried to bludgeon him on the head with the futility of destiny, but now, faced with Daniel’s simple question, that _yes_ won’t come out.

“I don’t know,” Dean says instead.

“Is it because you now believe that she _is_ in a better place?” Daniel asks.

Anna is arguing with Noelle now. Castiel is leaning back in his seat, ear turned towards them.

“Sometimes I think I’d still let the world burn if it meant my parents could have the life they always wanted.” Daniel looks shocked, until Dean continues, “But that would mean no life for Sam, for Cas, for you. So… I don’t know.”

“Dean,” Castiel says. “Why don’t you show Daniel the scrapyard? I saw some of Bobby’s old projects out there.”

“Hey, yeah.” Dean brightens. “What do you say, Danny-boy?”

Daniel scrunches his nose. “I will go if you don’t call me that.”

  


* * *

  


The day that Dean finally said to hell with post-Apocalyptic life was the day that Sam decided to run for office. It felt kinda like Stanford all over again, except this time it didn’t take as long for them to get over it.

Sam called every day while Dean made the trek up north away from the web of civilization that had always made him feel claustrophobic, not caring that he was running away like a coward from the nosy sons of bitches who couldn’t take a hint when Dean told ‘em that he ain’t no public figure and didn’t go around making speeches to ‘inspire the people in this time of need’.

During those calls Sam would tell him about whatever was happening, such as the rapidly-gaining momentum of his political campaign and Bobby’s insane volunteering to head an Earth-based angel garrison. Dean grunted back at him on principle, occasionally breaking character to complain about his stupid junk of a car – the Impala naturally had to stay with Sam because of its connection to the Winchesters’ story.

Dean took the long way round, finally stopping to see the World’s Largest Ball of Yarn and other useless stuff he’d never had the time for way back when. Having angel powers made it easy to stay hidden from unwelcome eyes, though after the first couple of months they started to dry out and Dean decided that it was time to bunk down.

He found the cabin almost by accident. It was like the place called to him, drawing him down that particular stretch of road in that particular part of drywood forest until he was right in front of it and knew that that was where he was supposed to be.

It didn’t take long to find the land owner and buy the whole damn area from him. It took significantly longer to ward the whole place, installing layer upon layer of protective sigils and magic all around the place until Dean was finally confident enough to move in for good.

The first morning he woke up in his new place, he lay in bed and soaked in the peace and quiet. There were no reporters demanding his life story, no hunters asking for advice, no angels trying to pay unnecessary tribute, no reformed demons falling all over themselves begging to make amends.

He took his time making coffee and nuking breakfast, and then brought the first meal of the rest of his life outside.

Dean sat on the chair set on the short pier overlooking the lake and ate quietly.

Only once did the rustle of wind make him look up, expecting a tan trenchcoat and solemn blue eyes that weren’t there.

  


* * *

  


Daniel has a wonderful laugh. His whole face lights up with it, the way that Sam’s used to a long time ago, and once again Dean is hit with the yearning to get them in the same room because he just knows they’ll get along like burning. He can just see Sam fussing all over Daniel while Sarah makes that soppy face she gets when Sam goes all domestic, and after that there’ll be more talk about the children that Sam still isn’t sure he wants.

“I’m sorry I called you a dick before,” Daniel says.

Dean shrugs easily. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“This is history,” Daniel observes, turning slowly. He’s standing on the remains of a Pinto, the vantage point high enough that he can oversee almost the entire scrapyard. “This is a part of history.”

“Kinda blows my mind to think of it that way,” Dean says.

“Dean…” There’s something small and frightened in the kid’s voice that makes Dean look at him sharply. “Dean, with who you are, and who Castiel is… Does it mean I have a destiny as well?”

Well, shit. Dean hadn’t wanted to think about that. “I don’t know. I thought it was all over, the story finished.”

“I know I’m a freak,” Daniel says, lowering himself down to sit on the hood of the Pinto, swinging his adorable little feet over the side. “That’s okay. I love Castiel, I love Noelle. But I thought I was just… _me_. Now I know that I’m part of something bigger than me.”

In all likelihood Daniel will never be able to have a normal life. The thought hurts like an old wound that never healed over, sending Dean’s mind back to the life he and Sam had growing up, and how fucked up that was, and how that continued to fuck them over for years after.

Then Dean looks up. Castiel’s watching them from the house, though he jerks and darts to hide the moment he sees Dean looking.

“You have Cas,” Dean says. “He’ll take good care of you.”

“He does,” Daniel agrees. “But it’s… Dean.”

“Hmm?”

“_Dean_.” Daniel pulls at his shirt urgently. “There’s someone out there.”

Dean turns quickly. “Where?” Daniel points to a space of trees and undergrowth beyond the edge of the scrapyard. “Did you see someone?”

“I saw movement, but not a person for sure, I don’t know,” Daniel says.

Dean quickly puts his arms around the kid’s waist and carries him back to the house. Castiel, reading the urgency of his body language, is immediately there to meet them.

“Daniel says he saw movement outside,” Dean says.

Castiel’s face goes hard. He nods at Noelle, who immediately gets up from her seat.

“Wait,” Anna says, stepping forward. “Let me go. You better stay here with them.”

Anna goes, but Castiel remains ramrod straight, standing by the door with all his angel senses on alert. Noelle eventually returns to the living room to pass what looks like an actual _sword_ to Castiel, and then she’s grabbing their things and packing. Apparently this is routine for them as well.

“This is what you do,” Dean says. “You run.”

“We must,” Castiel says. “I may not be able to give the best life to my son, but I do what I can.”

“Can’t you…” Dean thinks. “Couldn’t you have masked what he is, given him to someone else to take care of?”

“No,” Castiel says sharply.

For a moment Daniel’s face is open. Castiel isn’t looking, but Dean is, and there is such love in Daniel’s eyes that he completely understands what this is.

Dean would never have been able to give up Sam, either. He stayed with Sam until he was no longer needed, his brother eventually deciding to stretch his wings and step out into the world on his own terms. That will happen to Daniel one day, and Dean has no doubt that Castiel will deal with it better than Dean did. But until then, this is the life he’s chosen for them.

Dean cannot begrudge Cas that.

The front door opens, and Anna is back in the house. “There’s someone out there, but they’re using some kind of magic to remain hidden. I’ve never felt anything like it before, but I think they’re human, or at least mostly human.”

“We’re leaving,” Castiel announces.

That’s when the wall explodes, a car thrown into it.

Castiel has flung his wings out – everyone here is angelic in one way or another so there’s no danger of eye-burning – catching most of the debris and dumping it to the floor. There’s dust everywhere, and Dean’s coughing and trying to blink through it until Castiel shouts at him to get down because there’s another car flying at them.

Dean ducks behind the couch, Noelle and Daniel with him while Castiel and Anna face their attacker.

There’s the smell of ozone and burning where magic singes the air. Unearthly melody vibrates through Dean’s eardrums of Castiel and Anna talking in their true voices.

From his point near the floor, Dean spots a shotgun taped to the underside of the coffee table. Some strategic squeezing and he manages to pull it out, checking for bullets. There are some loaded, but they’re silver, which is harmless for an angel. Still, it could be useful as a distraction, so he cocks the gun ready.

It’s stupid, but Dean has to stand up. He wants to know what’s going on, what they’re facing, how Castiel and Anna are doing. He glances up over the back of the couch, shotgun at ready, and sees that there’s a huge hole in the wall.

“Anna, get them out,” Castiel says.

“Castiel—”

“_Get them out_.”

Anna has that look again, where she doesn’t quite know what to make of Castiel and that unnerves her.

“Here,” Dean says quickly, passing his phone to Noelle. “Call Bobby, or Jegudiel.” He steps out from behind the couch.

“Dean,” Anna says, “We’ve got to—”

“You heard Cas,” Dean says swiftly. “Get them out.”

Anna doesn’t argue, because she’s smart. She goes past to get Noelle and Daniel, and that leaves Dean free to step forward to Castiel’s side.

Castiel is looking through the opening in the wall, arms out on either side of him. His sword is unsheathed in one hand, while the other hand is facing palm out in a shielding gesture.

There’s someone walking towards the house.

“You better follow Anna, Dean,” Castiel says sternly, eyes never moving from the approaching figure.

Dean ignores the request. “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know yet,” Castiel says. “It doesn’t matter.”

The figure is tall and fair-haired, a pleasant yet hungry smile on his face as he draws near. Dean doesn’t recognize him, but that doesn’t count for much in his line of (former) work.

Dean shoots the bastard, because he can.

Castiel gives him a sideways look. “Dean.”

“Hey, worth a shot,” Dean says, the blond walking closer still.

“Just stay here, would you please?” Castiel asks. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean watches as Castiel runs forward, every part of him graceful and dangerous, sword raised in attack.

  


* * *

  


“You’re moping,” Gabriel said.

Dean threw his coffee in Gabriel’s face, figuring that having to clean it off the hardwood floor was worth that scandalized look. “How the fuck did you get in here?” he demanded.

“I walked,” Gabriel admitted, lip curling in his apparent disgust of the admission. He wiped his hand across his face, flicking coffee drops away carelessly.“All four fucking miles of it.”

Dean cursed and made a mental note to add bear traps around the cabin. The protections he’d installed made him blind to everyone except those who already knew he was there. Those who _did_ know he was there couldn’t just magic their way in, but Dean hadn’t thought that any of them would actually take the scenic route without asking beforehand.

“What do you want?” Dean asked.

“Just wanted to check out your new place.” Gabriel let his eyes deliberately travel over the cabin’s interior, not doing anything to hold back how unimpressed he was by the sight. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“Well, some of us don’t have our reality-changing archangel mojo anymore,” Dean said. “Oh, wait, _neither do you_.”

“Nice, Winchester,” Gabriel drawled. “Rub that in, why don’t you. Some messiah you are.”

“I still have enough of it to punch a hole in your face,” Dean said.

“Hey, hey, none of that.” Gabriel hadn’t changed much. He was still the insufferable son-of-a-bitch he’d always been, so Dean really wasn’t surprised when he made himself comfortable on the couch without asking.

“Say what you want and get out,” Dean said.

“I’m _tired_,” Gabriel whined. “Did you miss the part where I said that I walked the whole way?”

“Tough.” Dean went to refill his cup anyway, leaving Gabriel to pout at the ceiling. The cabin was quiet while he poured out the coffee, the only noise being the occasional wind whistling through the rafters.

“There’s still no sign of Castiel,” Gabriel said finally.

Dean grunted. Of course there wasn’t; Sam would’ve called if there were.

“We’ve managed to find some of the rogue angels,” Gabriel said, sounding almost serious. “But there’s still a number unaccounted for.”

“Do you actually have anything useful to say?”

“Raphael is dead.” Gabriel snorted, like he still couldn’t believe it. “Israfel found the remains of his vessel over in the Czech Republic. Some of the locals saw the fight, which as you can imagine, was pretty fuckin’ fierce.”

“Who could’ve killed an archangel?” Dean asked.

“Raphael was already demoted to begin with, so there’s no telling. I would’ve liked to see him one more time, though, just to hear him grovel.”

“This is interesting, but I don’t see the point.”

“I’m just sayin’…” Gabriel did a thing with his hands and mouth that was probably meant to be amusing. “Castiel has been gone for almost three years now, and—”

“You want to give a memorial, is that it?” Dean asked. “Want me to give a speech recounting all the things he did and lost in the name of humanity?”

“Sam told me a very interesting thing,” Gabriel said, something sharp and almost dangerous in his voice. “He said that you were sleeping together, which, I already suspected because my baby bro did have a way of looking at you like you were the meal he didn’t know how to order—”

“Gabe!”

“—but what was it, Dean?” Gabriel looked almost genuinely interested, not that Dean could let himself completely fall for it. “What was he to you?”

“Cas was – _is_ – a good friend,” Dean said stiffly. “One of my best friends.”

“A best friend,” Gabriel said flatly.

“That counts for something in my world,” Dean snapped.

Gabriel laughed. “No wonder he left you.”

Dean stormed up to him, twisting a hand into his shirt and dragging the asshole to his feet. “Get out. Get the fuck out!”

“He left you, Dean!” Gabriel shouted as Dean pushed him out the door. “He left you because you didn’t give him any reason to stay!”

  


* * *

  


Castiel once told Dean that he was a soldier, but he never really believed it until this moment. The fight outside Bobby’s house is swift and brutal, the enemy obviously divinely-powered as he matches Castiel’s sword with one of his own.

“Dean!” He turns. Noelle is gesturing to him to follow. Anna is already at the farther end, Daniel in her arms.

“You guys go,” Dean says.

“Castiel can take care of himself,” Noelle says.

“Just get Daniel to safety,” Dean insists. “Go!”

They head out in the other direction, leaving Dean free to turn his attention to the angel vs angel duel going on in the front yard. Dean may not know much about swordfighting, but he can tell that Castiel is very good at what he’s doing, his face a mask of concentration that Dean’s only ever seen focused on books and artifacts.

“All I want is the child,” the other guy says. “No one has to get hurt.”

Castiel’s answer is a deadly slice of the blade across his opponent’s shoulder, cutting through cloth to meet skin. The other guy hisses and redoubles his efforts.

“He’ll turn on you!” the blond snarls. “Betrayal is in his blood!”

Castiel bears his teeth when he makes the next strike.

Dean thinks. The Colt is with Bobby, so that’s a no can do. Maybe he can – no, wait, a blood sigil would get rid of Castiel as well. What about – no, that only works on demons…

So many options, so few that would be useful in this situation. Dean’s hunter brain shoots through all them quickly until he thinks, _fuck it_, and raises the shotgun. It won’t hurt the guy, but it might distract him enough so Cas can get a killing blow in and it’ll be over.

Before Dean can make the shot, it’s the _other_ guy who gets a killing blow in, sword finding an opening in Castiel’s defenses to stab straight into his chest and come out the other side.

The world slows.

Dean is stepping forward, firing the shotgun.

The bullets pass through the blond dick harmlessly. He turns to Dean, eyes bright with sweet satisfaction, and he starts to open his palm in what will surely be a mind whammy.

“Get away from him, you bitch!” a woman – _Anna? Is it Anna?_ – shouts. There’s more gunshots, but they’re not coming from Dean’s gun.

Dean doesn’t care at this point. Blond dick, mouth open in shock, is jerking backward at every new angel-hurting bullet and soon he’s far enough away that Dean can run forward and take Cas into his arms.

Castiel is staring at the wound in his chest, blood gushing out on to his jacket. He looks up at Dean, pale and embarrassed. “That’s never happened before,” he says around the unearthly light emerging from his mouth.

“Shut up,” Dean says gruffly, pressing a hand to the wound.

There’s just enough angel left in him to make the transfer. The essence flows swiftly through Dean’s fingertips, the power tingling as it escapes his body and snaps into Castiel’s, doing what they have to do. Dean continues to press down tightly while Castiel gasps, eyes clearing into understanding of what’s going on.

Suddenly, there is pain. Dean clamps a hand to his chest where he is starting to bleed at the very same spot above his heart, red trails falling over his fingers.

He may have overdone it. Oops.

Castiel, now almost fully-healed, sits up and quickly reaches out to grab Dean.

His eyes are beautiful and wrecked. Dean just looks into them. He’d be happy if he could just look into them.

“Why would you do this, Dean?” Castiel gasps. “Why would you _do this_?”

Why do you think, Dean wants to say, but he’s too busy choking on blood.

  


* * *

  


There was decent enough entertainment to be found whenever the cabin got too quiet. Just over an hour’s drive in any direction would get him to small towns with bars and restaurants worth checking out.

There was always the risk that someone would recognize him, so Dean took whatever precautions he could, sparing angel magic or really obnoxious hats to disguise himself when necessary.

Once, he tried to pick up a chick. The conversation was going really well and she genuinely did not seem to know who he was, but the moment she leaned across to kiss him, something in Dean recoiled so sharply he almost fell off the barstool.

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, I don’t know why that…”

“S’okay, honey,” she said, smile bright and unoffended. “Though you might want to check out whatever baggage you’ve got on those shoulders of yours.”

“I don’t have any baggage,” Dean growled.

“Whatever.” She fluttered her long fingernails in his face before drifting off to another side of the bar.

A couple of weeks later Dean tried to pick up a guy.

He even made a point to look for one with pale skin, blue eyes, dark hair and plush mouth.

That didn’t work out, either.

  


* * *

  


Dean’s died before, so he knows what it feels like. Contrary to popular belief, dying itself isn’t painful. The rip of the soul from the body is a shock, like a full-body dump into freezing water, but there isn’t any actual pain involved.

Hence, he cannot be dead yet, because he hurts like a motherfucker.

Someone somewhere is shouting. It sounds like Cas, and there’s the noise of steel clashing again, so it’s apparently Angel Highlander II: The Smitening.

Hands are suddenly on Dean, pressing against his wound and wrapping cloth tightly in a makeshift bandage. He tries to protest when he’s lifted to his feet because there’s no fucking way he can walk anywhere, but the hands are insistent. A shoulder that’s too small to be Cas’ braces under his arm, and he’s being guided away.

“Anna?” Dean says groggily. It’s amazing he can talk at all, really, because it feels like there’s a fist lodged in his chest.

The shoulder doesn’t answer. Dean wants to resist because Castiel may still need help, but the slight body that’s taking him away is surprisingly strong. He’s only laid back down on the ground when the noise of the fight is a distance away.

“Dean,” a female voice says.

He blearily opens his eyes. They tell him that the person hovering over him is last night’s pizza delivery girl, but that makes absolutely no sense.

“Dean, can you hear me?” she asks.

Dean makes an acknowledging sound.

“Dean, listen carefully,” the girl says. “Four years from now, on February 3rd 2019, Daniel, your son, will ask to visit a friend. Don’t let him. Dean? You’ve got to listen to me – _Don’t let him_. No matter what he says or how much he begs.”

What the hell is this girl talking about?

“Remember that date, Dean,” she says. “February 3rd 2019.”

Dean tries to tell her that he doesn’t speak hallucination, but she’s already on her feet, swinging a huge shotgun from around her back. She cocks it and then starts running back to Castiel.

All things considered, this isn’t that bad a place and time to die. He had his big hurrah, saved the world, made sure Sammy got his happy ending, had a _kid_ – Jesus, whoever would’ve thought that would happen – so it’s really not that much of a loss if he croaked right now. He got laid a couple of times last night, too; how many people could say _that_ about their death day?

Suddenly there’s a loud _bang_, wings fluttering nearby, and then Jegudiel’s high pitched squeal, “Mister Singer’s _house_!”

Dean snickers to himself.

“Dean,” someone says close to him. This one is definitely Anna. “We’re going to get you to help. Just hang in there.”

Whatever, Dean thinks, and then he falls unconscious.

  


* * *

  


Dean met Anna on the edge of the protected area, both of them there much earlier than the agreed time.

“It’s good to see you, Dean,” Anna said. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, ditto.” Dean had it all worked out in his head, but it was one thing to rehearse it in the quiet of his cabin, and another to say the words out loud. “About why I called you… It’s Cas.”

Anna made no attempt to hide her surprise. “Castiel?”

“I want you to help me find him,” Dean said.

“But it’s been…” She frowned; it was obvious Cas had not been in her thoughts as often. “How long has it been now?”

“Four years,” Dean said. “A little over, but who’s counting.”

“He’s probably—”

“I have to know, Anna,” Dean said. “If he’s dead, then fine, he’s dead, but I have to know _for sure_. There should be something left behind – bones, blood, a lock of hair, that stupid coat he used to wear all the time, _something_. An angel that important doesn’t just _disappear_.”

Anna blinked at his choice of words. “By important, you mean…”

“To the world,” Dean said dryly. “To the saving of everything and everyone from the Apocalypse.”

Anna was silent, her eyes ancient and assessing. “You’re still thinking about him, Dean? After all this time?”

“I just need to know,” Dean said, mentally cursing the tightness of his throat. “I know you guys stopped looking for him some time back, but … Look, I was just thinking. If he _is_ hiding, he’d be letting his guard down around now. If he’s _not_ hiding, and someone’s captured him, they’d be letting their guard down around now, too.”

Anna’s face was wretched in its sympathy. “Dean…”

“Just look for him,” Dean said. “For me. I don’t ask for much—”

“Of course, Dean,” Anna said kindly. “I still have my work in Heaven, but I will use all my spare time to do this for you.”

Dean exhaled slowly. “Thank you, Anna.”

  


* * *

  


It’s been a while since Dean’s been in a hospital, but there’s no mistaking the ceiling that greets him when he wakes up.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says.

“Sam.” Dean coughs and tries to get up. Sam is there immediately, hands pressing Dean firmly down against the pillow. There’s a mechanical hum when the bed slowly curves, allowing Dean to sit up and blink dazedly at his brother. “How’d I get here?”

“Anna,” Sam says. “You’re patched up now, almost good as new.”

They’re in a private ward that is luxurious as befitting the resources available to them, even though the patient is the Winchester who _isn’t_ President. The curtains are drawn and there’s a guy standing in front of the door. He’s got a two-piece suit, douchebag shades and a protection tattoo on his neck below the line of his crew cut.

“Nice to see you’re doing well, Mister Winchester,” two-piece says.

“For a given value of doing well,” Dean mutters. “Sam treating you all right, Dickie?”

“It’s Richard, sir,” he says.

“Not that again,” Sam sighs. He’s smiling, though his short, respectable hair is messy where he’s obviously been running worried fingers through it. “You look good, Dean.”

“Geez, Sam, quit it,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “I saw you on Christmas, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, well, it’s not the same,” Sam says. “I heard you had quite the adventure back at Bobby’s.”

“He’s gonna be pissed when he sees the collateral damage.”

“Jegs is on it,” Sam says.

Dean exhales slowly, letting his body relax against the mattress. For a while there are only the sounds of breathing and the occasional static-distorted voices coming from Richard’s earpiece.

“Cas is gone, isn’t he?” Dean asks.

“Yes,” Sam answers.

Dean’s eyes snap open and he stares at his brother.

Sam’s face is stoic and steady. “Dean, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Sam, you know I hate it when you say that, right?”

Sam sighs. “I’m an uncle, and you didn’t even tell me?”

The door suddenly swings inward and Daniel’s walking in, sucking on the straw of a fruit juice box while Castiel follows in just behind him.

“Yep,” Sam says, raising a meaningful eyebrow at Dean. “Cas went to get a drink.”

“Bitch,” Dean hisses.

Sam mouths a _jerk_ back at him and then unfolds his ridiculously long limbs to stand up. As he passes by the angelic father and son, he suddenly bends down and sweeps an arm around Daniel’s midrift, lifting him up effortlessly against his side. Daniel makes a face but he allows the manhandling to happen with nothing more than a sigh, like he’s already used to it.

How long was Dean out that _this_ could’ve happened in the meantime?

“We’ll be outside,” Sam says, carrying Daniel with him.

Richard follows them out, though only far enough that the back of his head is still visible through the narrow glass window in the door.

“You’re still here,” Dean says.

“I had to make sure that you were well,” Castiel says. The words sound stilted, as though he isn’t sure that he _should_ still be here. “Dean, what you did for me…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean says. “Don’t sweat it.”

Castiel nods. Something quietly steels over his eyes and Dean realizes that he just made a horrible mistake.

Another horrible mistake on top of countless other horrible mistakes.

“Cas.” Dean takes a deep breath. “I did it because I love you.”

For a moment there’s no reaction. Dean wonders if Cas heard him, or worse yet, if Cas is going to make him say it again.

Then Cas’ head slowly tilts over to one side, blue eyes full of wonder.

“Dean?” Cas says, voice small and naked. How does Cas pack so much meaning in that one word? How has Dean survived all this time without it?

“There it is,” Dean says, chest tight and funny and all sorts of things he doesn’t like to think about. “Just so you know.”

There’s a sound. A whimper or a gasp, Dean can’t be sure. All he can do is stare at Cas’ face, watching how it crumples under confusion and disbelief like he can’t understand this, or he doesn’t _want_ to understand this. There is something else there as well, like maybe he’s been carrying a cold hard ache inside him for just as long as Dean’s been carrying his.

“I have to go,” Cas whispers shakily. “If you make me choose between you and Daniel—”

“Take me with you,” Dean says fiercely, surprised by how much he wants it when he hadn’t even considered it an option before this instant. “I’m not completely useless, you know. I’m a hunter, and I did save the world that one time. You need as much help as you can get. That guy who attacked us at Bobby’s? Who was he? Do you even know?”

“That was Orfiel,” Cas says, though he still sounds dazed, lost. “I’d trapped him in Purgatory, but he escaped and was more powerful than I expected. I had previously been able to overpower him quickly, but our more recent encounter required more effort.”

“Exactly,” Dean says. “There’s crazy bad guys out there. I even heard that Raphael was killed.”

“Oh.” Cas winced. “That was me.”

“_You_?”

“He threatened my son,” Cas said, looking sad. “But your point is exactly my own. What I face – what _we_ face – is dangerous. You’re out of the game now, you said so yourself—”

“I’m allowed to take things back, aren’t I?” Dean says. “I’m allowed to change my mind, aren’t I?”

Cas is shaking. He is shaking and backing towards the door like _Dean_ is the one who’s dangerous.

“This hurts, Dean,” he says tightly. “I never knew about hurt before I met you.”

“But there’s also good stuff,” Dean says urgently, fingers out and clutching air though Cas is all the way across the room. _Fuck_, he just wants to touch Cas. He wants to hold him and kiss that broken look off his face. “I taught you good stuff, too. Even if just a little.”

“I’m going now, Dean,” Cas says.

Before Dean can shout at him not to, he’s vanished.

  


* * *

  


“Who are you?” Dean demanded.

“Castiel.”

“I figured that,” he snapped. “_What_ are you?”

“I’m an angel of the Lord.”

Dean couldn’t believe that, not even when the man before him did a freaky light trick thing and it looked like there were actual _wings_ opening up in the empty space behind him.

If Dean believed that, he’d have to believe a crapload of other things.

All Dean wanted was to find his brother. He didn’t care about God’s work, or whatever it was the angels wanted him to do, or whatever the hell the world had in store for him next. He was going to find his brother and it was all going to be okay. The world could go fuck itself.

When the creepster with the flasher get-up disappeared, Dean decided right there and then that he’d be glad if he never saw that son of a bitch ever again.

  


* * *

  


The hospital is quiet and dark when Dean wakes up. He doesn’t know what woke him, but his instincts are as sharp as ever so there must some funny shit going on that he’d start awake like that.

He lies there quietly, gauging what items in the room he can use as a weapon. He’s supposed to be safe here because Sam’d left a couple of his Secret Service guys hanging around and set protective magic all over the place, but stuff happens.

There’s a soft creak when the door opens. “Dean?”

He sits up. “Daniel?”

Daniel runs across the room on light feet. He climbs up on to a chair and wipes away the marks on the wall. The moment the letters are broken there’s a rustle of wings and Castiel is in the room.

“Dean, you must be sure,” Cas says. “If you come with us, it will be difficult.”

“Have you _read_ the _Supernatural_ books?” Dean asks, feeling dizzy and painfully relieved that Cas came back.__

None of those feelings change when Cas gives him an exasperated look. “Dean.”

“Yes, I want to come,” Dean says. “I want this.” He doesn’t add: he wants to get to know Daniel, learn to love Daniel, learn to be loved Daniel. He wants to get to know Cas all over again, learn about the things he’s missed, give him a whole new set of memories.

(There’s also a nagging thought in his head about something he has to do on a specific date, but he’s not sure how it got there.)

All Dean knows is that he wants. “I’m sure, Cas.”

“Come.” Cas helps him get to his feet while Daniel fetches his shoes and clothes.

Dean gets dressed quickly, Daniel turned his back on them politely as he does. Dean has the feeling that this’ll be the only chance he’ll get in a while, so he reaches out and grabs Cas’ shirt, pulling him in close.

Cas’ lips part under his eagerly, tongue sweeping boldly into his mouth like he knew Dean was going to do this before Dean did.

“Dean,” Cas moans softly, every inch of weight and longing in his name that Dean’s ever wanted. “Dean, _Dean_…”

“Yeah.” Dean pecks his mouth. “Let’s go. Our kid’s right there.”

Cas starts, like he’d forgotten. “Right.”

“Why do we have to be sneaky about this?” Dean asks as he pulls on his jacket. “Don’t you trust Sam?”

“It has already hit the news that you are here, and there are other angels in the building that I would prefer not to cross paths with,” Cas says. “You will not be able to leave by normal means without people noticing. My job is to keep my family as unnoticeable as possible.”

“Noelle’s a few blocks down in the car,” Daniel says, passing Dean’s cellphone to him. “Is there anything else you need to bring?”

Dean doesn’t even bother looking around. “Nope.”

  


* * *

  


The first chance Dean gets to exhale in his new life, they’re in an apartment in San Marino. Cas has apparently amassed a small fortune doing various odd jobs all over the world, and Noelle has become an expert in finding nice, private locales to be their temporary homes.

“I’ve never been out of the country before,” Dean confesses as Cas climbs on top of him. “British Columbia doesn’t count.”

“You will visit many more places before you’re done,” Cas says, lowering his mouth to kiss Dean’s collarbone. “I will attempt to be a decent tour guide in your explorations.”

“I can think of something I’d like to explore,” Dean leers.

That earns him a raised eyebrow. “Dean.”

“I love it when you do that.” Dean puts a finger on Cas’ lower lip, pressing gently and grinning when Cas immediately wraps his lips around it and sucks. “I love how you say my name.”

“I shall make you scream mine,” Cas promises, mouth hot like a furnace around his finger.

Dean laughs. “God, Cas, the things you do to me…” He pushes a hand into Cas’ hair, marveling at the way he arches into the touch like a cat. “No screaming, though. Daniel’s downstairs.”

“Noelle has taken him out for ice-cream,” Cas says. “I have already bribed her.”

That’s Dean’s cue to grab the back of Cas’ neck and pull him down into the kiss they’ve been wanting. It’s hungry and rough and sweet, everything they have and are to each other poured into it.

“There’s no one but you,” Dean says suddenly, before he loses his nerve. “After you. No one.”

Cas makes a face at him. “I don’t believe that.”

“Okay, there were a couple of times,” Dean admits reluctantly. “I’m no monk, you know that, but later, whenever I tried it was just… It wasn’t there. I couldn’t be there.”

Cas’ face goes soft, and he kisses Dean gently. “You don’t need to tell me any of this, Dean.”

Dean presses his face into Cas’ neck, unsure if he wants to look at him right now. “Actually, I’m just being selfish and fishing for info.”

Cas, of course, knows exactly what Dean is doing and forces him to meet his eyes. “I love you, Dean. Now. That’s what’s important.”

Dean swallows tightly. “Yeah?”

“You can’t expect me to follow certain rules that you don’t apply to yourself,” he says calmly. “That isn’t how it works.”

“Man, I miss the time when you’d just believe whatever I’d tell you.”

Cas smiles at him, slow and easy. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.”

The slide of skin on skin is distracting, Cas a sensual weight on Dean’s body as he undulates with purpose. It’s worth everything they’ve been through, and Dean’s pretty sure it’ll be worth everything they’ll go through next.

Dean’s not afraid. He doesn’t know what the future holds, but that no longer fills him with dread or emptiness the way it once did.

“We can make this work,” Dean says into Cas’ mouth. “I’ll make it work.”

Cas laughs softly, surprised and pleased and a whole bunch of other emotions Dean can’t wait to dissect and pry apart. “Dean. You always find new ways to surprise me.”__

Dean smiles up at him. “That makes us even, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Extended author's notes at my journal](http://scaramouche.dreamwidth.org/195110.html).


End file.
